


Career Opportunities

by livinginthepast



Series: Grey Lining [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: AU, Complete, M/M, Pre-Series, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2019-02-19 01:00:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 26,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13112478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livinginthepast/pseuds/livinginthepast
Summary: "Do you wanna be, do you really wanna be a cop?" - The ClashGreg Lestrade has just finished school and wants to join the police force. He needs to earn some money before leaving so continues his Saturday job, as a merchandise seller, full-time. He unexpectedly becomes interested in some of the goings on at his workplace.Set in the late 80s ('88 at the start) pre-show and probably completely wrong looking at the character's canon ages but just go with it.





	1. Memorabilia

Greg Lestrade carried two black cases and a table cloth from his battered car into the marketplace. It was empty besides the other sellers who smiled at Greg as he passed. They were actual business owners whilst he was more of a novelty. His family thought it worthwhile that just before he left school he make a living. Greg had looked for jobs for weeks before his friend, Andy, suggested he could sell band memorabilia which they’d both collected from the hundreds of concerts they had seen together. After that conversation Greg decided to seek out a stall and some suppliers - namely his other friend Marcus who worked at the Boardwalk and was really good at charming the merchandise vendors. The job so far had been pretty fun. He’d met a bunch of punk fans and had a whole new group of guys to go to gigs with. The job also meant he managed to deck out his entire denim jacket with spare badges and patches he didn’t fancy selling, which was a nice perk.

He put the cloth down, sat the black cases on the table and undid the latches. Then he grabbed a magazine from inside one of the cases and shoved it on his chair, double checked the badges, then asked Vivienne, who worked next to him in the small food court, to keep an eye on everything whilst he went back to his car and grabbed the poster tubes, change box and his sign. Other stall owners did have small shops with lockable shutters meaning they didn’t have to haul around their stock as he did, but Greg doubted he’d make enough to cover the rent of a larger stall.  
He stacked the poster tubes round the front and stood the sign up.

“Thanks, Vi, you’re the best.”

“Whatever, Greg. Can’t have your precious products taken.”

“Course not, I’d be bankrupt.”

He settled down to his magazine which he’d chosen because of an exclusive interview with The Clash. The interview was devoured as soon as he brought it, it was nothing he didn’t know about the band already, but decided to read it cover to cover anyway in case they mentioned any upcoming gigs or any new music to listen to on repeat in the record shop.

Business always picked up late afternoon so Greg had lunch at half past eleven gearing up for some more sales. He’d only had one so far - a small boy who brought a The Jam badge, though adorable wasn’t exciting. The stall, which was more like a mini-shop, across from him seemed to have far more people going in and out and both him and Vi looked on with envy.

“Greg, do you want a tea or something?”

“Yeah that’d be great thanks.”

Once the tea was all sorted Vi asked between sips how school was going. She’d left the previous year and liked to stay updated on gossip so Greg filled her in on how the head teacher got divorced and how budgets had been cut again meaning teachers were made even more cranky than usual.  
He and Vi were the only two young people working in the market, so it was a relief they had someone to talk to when there were no customers.  
Vivienne talked in return about how her Uncle kept insisting she worked constantly now she’d left school. 

“He keeps implying that I’m some lazy oaf without a job, but I’ve been here since I had a National Insurance number for Christ’s sake!”

“Maybe you should apply for other jobs then you won’t have to deal with family members and shit,” Greg suggested.

“I suppose so. I’m just being weird about it because then I’ll have to commute to Sheffield to actually get something worthwhile; I don’t really know if I want to leave yet.”

“Can’t help you there.”

Vivienne said goodbye and went off to clean the cups away as Greg finished off the last few bites of his sandwich. The food court had suddenly become quite crowded and it looked like she was needed to distribute samples. Greg’s sandwich crumbs were brushed away before potential customers could see and assume that the stall, as well as Greg, was unsanitary.  
A man, who seemed to be nearing 40, stood near the table and loudly proclaimed “God, this takes me back! I listened to T. Rex when they were Tyrannosaurus Rex.”

“That’s ace, mate. Did you want to buy anything or-”

“Yeah, why not? I’ll take a couple of badges for old time’s sake.”

Greg handed over the badges and the guy’s change. The man pinned them to himself, one T. Rex badge and a Depeche Mode one, he smiled a walked into the door of the opposite stall.  
Over the past few weeks the quaint new masseuse was becoming increasingly popular with locals and visitors alike. Apparently the two workers were very professional making customers feel at ease with their pent up stress from all the government cuts. Local people were fairly lucky in that many jobs could be gained through nepotism but because the population was growing, far more were choosing the move to Sheffield. Greg was considering doing the same once he’d left school. He hadn’t planned to go to university or anything but figured he could probably work something out with his mates in the city.

When it reached four, and the marketplace was due to close, Greg packed his stuff away into his car. He seeked out the nearest payphone and dialled for his mum.

“Hey mum, just wondering if it’d be okay to stay and grab a takeaway. That way you don’t have to cook.”

“If you want. It’ll save me a job.”

“Do you want me to order you anything?” Greg asked.

“No thanks, I might see if Sarah wants to have dinner with me.”

They chatted for a little while more whilst Greg decided if he wanted Chinese or curry. There was a really good curry place close to the car park, so he went with that. He reeled off his usual order of vindaloo, naan and poppadums’ to the server. His eyes wandered across the varnished wood and red tones as they got his order ready. It was unusual for Greg to stay out later than his working hours on a Saturday but for some reason he didn’t feel like going home just yet. If Sarah was going to be round he’d rather avoid the place altogether until she left. Sarah was convinced that Greg was completely in love with her daughter in the year below. Her name was Grace and besides the awkward alliteration they had nothing in common. Grace was an avid prefect and loved to tip off teachers to where Greg and his group of friends smoked in breaks. 

“Here’s your order.”

Thanking the woman Greg got back in the car and turned the key. The engine started up and stopped still again.

“Fuck.”

He tried the key three more times and gave up clasping his hands into fists. He looked around the car park and went back for the payphone down the street a little bit. He wasn’t looking forward to this particular conversation. Whilst the phone was connecting he fiddled the wire around in his fingers. “Hello again, sorry to interrupt your dinner with Sarah but the car might’ve broken down.”

“What do you mean might have?”

“Well I’ve tried starting it about four times and nothing seems to be happening.”

“Okay, I’ll call someone to come and get you and tow the car away.”

“I’m really sorry mum,”

“It’s alright. You’re paying the tow truck though.”

Greg went to get back in the car to eat his food before it got even colder. A few more of the stall owners were preparing to leave. He smiled at a few he recognized but didn’t really want to stop and chat.

“Oh, hey Greg! How’s your mum and that?”

“She’s fine.”

“I haven’t spoken to her in a while, I’ll have to ring her or something. We need a bit of a catch up.” 

“Yeah, you should.”

“Anyway, I’d better get going. Need my eight hours.”

Barry had been annoying both Greg and his mum for a little while. He’d apparently been badgering a bunch of her friends for information about her. It was obvious what he was after when his Wife divorced him. Barry was a Police Constable in the local town so Greg really didn’t want to provoke him if he was going to being applying to the force in a couple of years. If anything the Sheffield force was just made more appealing by Barry’s obsession with his mum. 

The food had gone from steaming hot to almost cold. It retained some warmth as he began to dig in using poppadums’ as a fork. It wasn’t the ideal way to eat curry but he didn’t have many options being pinned to the car.  
Once finished with the food Greg headed in search of a bin. He spotted one across from the car park towards the back entrance of the market place. The light of the door being opened revealed a plethora of papers stacked in the bin. He moved quickly away from the door so as the couple could get past with little trouble.

“We need to send another shipment off fairly soon or the other end will get restless.”

“Yeah, I hear you. It would be better if we, like every other person in this town, moved and worked somewhere with a much bigger population.”

“Well obviously we can’t do that. That would cost a lot more, not to mention the dangers involved.”

“What dangers?”

The two men had by then walked too far into the car park for Greg to hear the dangers of moving a business to a bigger town. He assumed it was because rent would be higher and loyal customers would be harder to come by. With that revelation he re-evaluated the idea of moving still coming to the conclusion that working on a larger police force would make it much easier to rise through the ranks, as well as avoiding certain townspeople. 

The couple had played on Greg’s mind though the car being towed home. It seemed out of place that a small market stall had such huge orders to fill that the buyers would become annoyed at any instance of lateness. Why did they not have the product already? And why would the population matter if they couldn’t fulfill external orders already? The men’s conversation was almost as strange as seeing Barry outside the confines of the two streets around the station he usually patrolled. 

In the morning, after a fairly rough sleep worrying about money, the car, and the curious men Greg set-off for work again. He left a note for his mum saying he would take the bus whilst the car was out of action.

It was a little awkward trying to transport the two cases as well as the posters. He settled for taking only three poster tubes along with the black cases because he could lengthen the straps of the cases and put them over his shoulders leaving room for the tubes. He discounted some posters as he usually didn’t sell as many as the badges or patches.

“Hey Greg,” Vi said as they both walked through the backdoor of the market.

“Hiya, how are things?”

“Okay I suppose. I’m still getting badgered about doing more hours in the week but what can you do?”

“Yeah..” Greg looked off to the other side of the room.

“Are you okay? You seem distracted.”

“Sorry, um, I was just looking for someone.”

“Anyone interesting? Someone I know?”

“No. Just some men I saw last night talking about some weird shit.”

He explained last night to Vivienne and how he felt something strange must being going on. Vi didn’t seem as convinced but reluctantly agreed, because of Greg’s concern, to help Greg if he needed anything. She wrote down her house number and the business number for the food court because she usually ended up answering the phone anyway. Greg felt more secure knowing a person who could keep an eye out when he was at school. It was probably nothing, just Greg getting his hopes up for involvement in a case. Barry being around was no doubt a coincidence that clearly had nothing to do with the two men’s conversation. 

The lack of customers had Greg shifting in his seat. Boredom was unfortunately becoming a problem now that he’d read his magazine cover to cover and hadn’t thought to buy a new one. Vi kept coming over to his table to talk town gossip but she eventually left to deal with the lunchtime rush. She came back at the end of the day moaning about her Uncle being completely unaware of how hard she worked. 

When Greg finally got home after the new bus driver got lost on route. He walked the rest of the way, frustrated that the day was not a success sales wise. As he turned into his road he noted that the car was gone from the driveway - either mum had managed to get it working or it was in a garage somewhere.  
He checked the doormat for any post that might’ve arrived late, finding none and settling his stuff down near the porch so he could make tea before continuing with the day.  
The kettle had just finished boiling when the phone rang.

“Hello, Lestrade residence.”

“Ah, hello Greg. Your mum wouldn’t happen to be around would she?”  
It was Barry, no doubt calling for some kind of proposition.

Greg moved the phone wire out from under the phonebook to stop it getting stuck “No, she might be working late or getting the car fixed. Sorry I can’t help you.”

“It’s alright lad. I’ll save that for when you’re not around. Anyway, you might be able to help me - I need some information about the marketplace and how it all works.”

“Why?”

“Well I don’t really fancy asking the owners myself, besides, I have no doubts the unwritten rules of the place are slightly different to the stuff we would be given.”

“I meant why are you researching it, not why are you asking me.”

“Oh, it’s not a big deal really. Just heard a few things and want to get a grasp on the situation. Besides, information is always useful.”

“What do you want to know?”

He asked for the general prices of stalls and how maintenance was managed. Greg was asked in a lot of detail about how his stall was discounted due to it not being a fixture as well as his personal relationship with both the manager and his assistant. It was a dull conversation and Greg was getting bored of the questioning. Barry was undeniably good at his job, but seemed to need every single scrap of information to piece something together, he couldn’t just infer. Perhaps it was due to the time the force almost got reprimanded for arresting someone for burglary with almost no proof or maybe because Barry over-analyzed everything since his Wife was found to be cheating on him with their neighbor. 

“Okay, I’m done with the questions now lad. I’m sure that will have fulfilled that other guy’s quota.”

“Wait what other guy?” Greg was mildly confused, not once had Barry mentioned another man looking into the goings on at the marketplace and he wouldn’t let the admission go.

“Oh, um, well, I mean a guy pointed out that maybe we should focus on the market a bit more as it’s gone unchecked for some years. I don’t really know him that well. He often just rings the station with information, it must’ve been the first time I’ve seen him in the flesh. You learn not to question useful people, honestly it’s probably fine since he’s helped us so often over the years.”

“Strange. Anyway, glad to have helped. I’d better be going, I ought to make a start on some food seen as it’s, wow, 6.30 now.”

They said their goodbyes and Greg hung up. He stared at the wall for a solid five minutes before collecting his thoughts and starting on making a carbonara for him and his mum. Whilst the sauce and pasta was bubbling away he couldn’t think of anything but the phone call and the mysterious person visiting the police station. It was perplexing that such a man existed. 

Despite the late-night pondering, Greg woke up bright and early for the last week of exams. He supposed that the tiny amount of revision he had fit in between all the other things going on his life would have to make do. It wasn’t like he was going to university, but regardless he was still quite nervous to be so close to the end of all he had known of life so far. The exam started at 9.00 so he managed a few hours extra revision over his physics notes. He ate breakfast in his uniform, grabbed his bag and set off. He slugged along the streets not wanting to be late but also wondering why he hell he was even doing the exams in the first place, they were the first year to do GCSEs and he didn’t require them to become a cop.

Once at school he checked the seating chart and walked into the exam. The exam contained a few questions he wasn’t certain on but could guess nonetheless. All in all it wasn’t a terrible exam, and it felt good to be rid of another topic. Afterwards Greg and his group of friends decided (on Andy’s complaints about not seeing anyone) to go to the pub and revise for the last history exam. Whilst walking there they made fun of that one equation about velocity pointing out that the exam board had misspelt ‘speed’ as ‘spud’.

Andy’s older brother was behind the bar and would happily serve them beer and platters of chips whilst they studied the rise of the Nazi party, so long as they only had two beers each.  
History was one of the more interesting topics to study in a group because facts were far easier to remember when your friends could question you on it. Also it was interesting to Greg how past events led to even weirder ones in the present, such as the local gossip they ended up talking about. The stapled revision guides lay abandoned next to beer mats as they shifted from history to petty feuds. Sentimentality took over and led to Greg to miss the nights they’d spent at this wooden table talking complete crap. He turned around to take in the surroundings and savour the night before spotting Barry in the doorway and whipping his head back to the table in blind panic.

“Um, guys, Barry’s here. I don’t wanna get busted.” 

“It’ll be fine. Besides, I thought the force here was beneath you anyway.”

“What do you mean?” Greg said, he didn’t realize he came across as looking down on his friends. He actually looked up to them being so carefree.

“You’ve always said you wanted to be a city cop so don’t sweat it. Also, shouting may bring attention to us and I thought you were avoiding that?”

“Yeah, okay, whatever.”

He groveled for a bit longer and then decided to join into the group conversation again. They were talking about how Ed cheated on Susie and was deservedly being ignored by their entire year group.

“Oh! Greg!”

“Hello Barry,” he reflectively hid his glass a little bit under the table.

“Don’t worry about drinking near me - besides I did my fair share of underage drinking at your age, wow that takes me back. Anyway, how are you doing lad?”

They talked for a little while about exams and Greg’s Mother, which Greg didn’t enjoy, until Barry seemed to notice someone come into the pub.

“Ah, sorry guys I’m gonna have to go. That’s the guy I was telling you about on the phone the other day, he seems to be worried about something or other, we’ll talk some other time.”

Greg’s friends seemed a bit annoyed by Barry’s sudden descent into their conversation and decided to call it a night. It was getting late anyway and nobody wanted to wake up late for the exam tomorrow. Greg decided to walk back to his street with Andy as they both lived close-by. Before they left Greg snuck a look at the strange man talking to Barry. It was difficult not to look at him. He was a little out of place in a local pub wearing an expensive, if slightly rumpled, three piece suit. The man noted Greg and Andy’s exit with a look and continued talking to Barry. Greg almost jumped back over to the table ready to face the man, looking down on him and his mate like they weren’t worth even considering important. It was entirely irrational, but the ease and sophistication was unrestrained from this man and his horrible Look. It put Greg in his place in an instant, boiling his worth down into a single rusty bucket of water.

“Move it Greg we’re almost out the door; what’s the point in getting kicked out now, eh?”

Greg let Andy lead out the door and apologized for being weird.  
The walk home was a luxury that Greg would miss when his mates stopped being kids, and so did he for that matter. It was an odd notion being on the cusp of adulthood whilst still being constrained by the town’s monotony. Greg and Andy didn’t spend as much time alone together so much and it was surprisingly pleasant to talk over stuff whilst the beer was still in their bloodstreams and the air was fresh. 

When Greg got home, and waved goodbye to his friend, he sat at his desk ready to get some serious revision in. It was an hour or so later when his concentration waned and Greg thought sleep would better than trying to cram everything in.  
He got into bed and his thoughts drifted towards that posh twat at the pub. Even if he did seem to have a strange connection to the force at least Greg would never have to see him again. 

Greg’s days continued to follow in a similar pattern with an exam followed by last-minute revision for the next. History, general studies, another science, the second maths paper and lastly sociology. Over ten exams and Greg still couldn’t remember his candidate number. He was seeing his friends less and less and his and Andy’s pub revision evenings as people began to finish school entirely. Sociology was not Greg’s favorite class. At least with history he was surrounded by friends and exciting military prowess. Sociology was more for the sake of an extra grade on his results. The actual lessons were just discussions about topics like the police having racial bias or how class affects literally everything.  
Once the exam was over Greg and Andy decided to organize and impromptu party at the pub to celebrate. They rang round their friends and eventually the regular patrons began to join in with the celebration (with Andy buying an entire round for everyone as a bribe). 

It was by about one in the morning that Greg realized he was more than a little tipsy. He wasn’t going to throw up but he decided to slow down, have some water and a snack to keep the hangover at a minimum. Somebody turned up the stereo to maximum volume, prompting at least four drunk people to sing loudly and another few to begin swaying in their seats. Nothing diminished the enjoyment of the group, everybody seemed to be happy for no other reason than sharing the night with a group of tired and stressed exam takers.

In the background Greg noted Andy’s attempt to flirt with a girl who was wearing a Sex Pistols t-shirt. She didn’t seem interested and instead seemed to be trying to catch the eye of Grace who took the hint and began to sandwich herself between Andy and the girl to stop his advances.  
Whilst watching Greg considered the advantages of leaving before everyone was completely smashed, not that some weren’t already, and did so. He announced his exit to his friends who jeered at him for being a light-weight. Greg kept the banter to a minimum and made his way into the cold, refreshing night.

There was a car on the opposite side of the road - in a place clearly not meant for parking. Presumably somebody was getting picked up or somebody was getting a ticket. Either way Greg was in high spirits as he walked down the street, turned left into the view of the park and continued his walk until he reached the turn-off for his house.  
He jammed the key at the wood of the door, laughed and tried again reaching the lock. He opened the door and his mother stood behind it looking at him with more than a little distress colouring her features. 

“Greg are you okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“It’s just I had a phone call from Barry just now saying he thought somebody was following you. He was outside the pub taking a break. I was ever so worried.”

“Strange. It was probably just a pub goer though, nothing too scary.”

“Okay. I’m going to call him back and let him know you’re okay. Greg, just, please be careful. I know you aren’t a child anymore but I still want you home in one piece.”

“I know. I’ll be careful, I promise.”

He travelled up the stairs in an air of confusion and haze. Not just from the alcohol, but from the idea that someone had been watching him and he was so unaware of it. It was likely that Greg wouldn’t shake the feeling for a while and would be reluctant to go to the pub. That was fine though, there was more than one place to buy alcohol. He brushed his teeth and crashed into bed – the duvet was cold but soon heat collected and lulled him to sleep.

The morning brought his first working day as a memorabilia seller without being a part-time student. It felt quite abnormal to be setting up shop and talking to Vi on a Thursday morning. Mum had lent him the car for the day and had taken a carpool with work colleges.  
Although Greg had spent half terms working it was strangely scary to realize he had to make a living fairly soon. Of course the safety net of his mum’s income existed but it would be a blow to his pride to continue living off his mum when he’d already been doing so for as long as he’d known.  
Unsurprisingly the stall sold very little prompting Greg to stare into the massage shop across the way. It was damn infuriating not having any customers when he could see them everywhere else. He noticed how his stall experienced an odd traffic pattern where people avoided his stall but were concentrated in the areas around it. A brunette with a perm came out of the glass door opposite carrying several papers. Greg was confused by this – he had little knowledge about spas but instinctively felt that it would be strange to be given a wad of paper for perusal afterwards. He considered over lunch asking Vivienne about it but she wasn’t available, or if she was Greg was unaware. 

By three Greg was tired and ridiculously bored. One sale of a badge which read ‘I’m a member of an immoral subculture’ in bright yellow text was not a sustainable income until he felt ready to up and leave to try his luck at the Sheffield police force. He sighed loudly scraping his fingers through his hair – better start shifting things back to the car. Packing away felt a bit like defeat.  
He carried all the posters first, then the cases of patches and badges back to the car, locked the boot and then walked across the car park to the familiar phone box.

“Hello?”

“You alright Marcus?”

“Oh, Greg! I’m good, mate. How’s exams going?”

“Ah, well, just finished them yesterday. Was okay I suppose. Anyway, I wanted to ask you if you could stop posting all the extra shit. Stuff’s not selling and I kind of want to pack the stall in anyway.”

“Sure, no prob. Has your inner punk finally died?”

“Nah, as if. You know how I always said I wanted to move near you? Well, I think I’m going to do it. At some point. As soon as I know there’s police interviews and I have a place to sleep.”

“You can always crash at mine, you know. My flat mate is barely home, I’m surprised he still pays rent if I’m honest.”

“Is that okay? Well once I sort myself out, yeah? God, this is weird. Thanks, though.”

“No problem, mate. Look I’m going to go, my shift’s about to start. Take care, yeah?”

“Yeah, you too. See ya.”

The steps up until moving in with Marcus seemed infinite and largely unattainable. Whilst Greg avidly fought against the school rush back home he listened to the radio, they played a fairly new Spandau Ballet song so the traffic wasn’t completely wasteful.  
He got out the car and bounded up to his room to find a scrappy spiral notepad to organize how he was going to move. He wrote down the details of when he would close his stall, the approximate amount of money he’d need for a deposit and then rent and how much he currently had. He had saved £960 from Christmas and birthday presents as well as his earnings from working the stall meaning he was closer to the target than originally thought. He’d talk to the marketplace owners tomorrow to explain the situation and cancel his rent for the space. Not everything could be sorted today – it would take time and he was hungry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've made a playlist for this series on spotify which I'll link when it starts catching up to the chapters. I mainly had this idea whilst listening to 80s music so blame The Clash and Soft Cell for some of the inspiration. If anyone's interested the first GSCEs were taken in 1988 - hence the date in the description.
> 
> Bare in mind I'm at university now so I have a limited amount of time with all the work I'm doing & society related things as well. Updates will be sparse and probably have strange word counts. I'll try for monthly updates.
> 
> ([Memorabilia - Soft Cell](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AD9DYtBkvVc))


	2. Going Underground

Greg woke up even earlier for his stall placement the next day and felt the more effort he put into selling the better his profit would be. He’d spent last night after dinner making a few signs and thinking up new ways to display things to make them more exciting. Hopefully his work would pay off and he could have some extra money before moving. Vivienne commented on his new stall proclaiming that it was a waste to start caring a month from leaving but Greg disagreed.

Vivienne seemed kind of annoyed that he was maybe, probably, leaving all of a sudden. It was fine - Greg would’ve been the same if she’d left before him, there weren’t many people to talk to in the marketplace. During lunch he sorted out with the managers that he could be leaving fairly soon. He sold quite a bit more than the day before including a few posters and several rows of badges. A lot of kids gravitated towards his stall today spending a little pocket money whilst their parents ate lunch. He also noticed that more people were coming out of the massage place carrying wads of paper. They actually seemed to take note of his stall this time – a few even brought something. He snuck a peek at one of the papers a twentyish something girl was holding whilst she looked through the T-shirts. It said ‘Information Concerning the J-‘ unfortunately the rest was covered by her hand and Greg didn’t want to look creepy staring at her hand. 

He stayed at the marketplace until the proper closing time of half-past four. By that time several groups of high schoolers stopped at his stall – some he recognized others he didn’t. They almost brought out the badges he’d brought today and made a fair dent in the t-shirts. Lots of teens visited the shopping centre on a Friday, more than he realized and he made a note to leave the stall open for longer if these were the kind of sales he was getting. A lot of them engaged him in conversation about the patches he had on his jacket asking about the gigs he’d went to and discussing interviews as well as new songs. Greg left the stall feeling uplifted. How ridiculous was it to forget his own demographic? A slow happy smile spread across his face as he pulled out the car park and sang along to Simple Minds on the radio. The sun was shining as he took the turning towards the Police Office. Rather than go straight to his house he felt it best to report the strange goings-on at the marketplace with the weird pamphlets the massage place was giving out. He reasoned that even if it wasn’t anything big he knew the Police were monitoring the place so it was worth letting them know.

He approached the receptionists bench as casually as possible and asked if Officer Green was free. The lady explained that Barry was in a meeting currently but he could wait outside his Office where it’d be less hectic than the reception. He smiled his most charming smile at the girl and followed her instructions to where he could sit. The chair wasn’t particularly comfortable, he hoped the meeting wouldn’t take very long. He shifted his legs about to try and settle a bit better, it didn’t help much. He looked at the floor and then the ceiling and then his eyes wandered to a drinks machine a little way down the corridor. It would be a be strange to show up with a paper cup. Maybe not.  
He instead tries to focus on the conversation happening on the other side of the door. Frosted glass didn’t hide everything and he knew the person participating in the meeting with Barry was wearing grey. Not that it made any difference to deciphering what was being talked about. He was fairly sure he heard the words ‘as soon as possible’ but it easily could’ve been ‘a soup is delectable’ – the former was more likely.  
A large hand was seen grabbing the door handle and Greg tried to subtly look anywhere other than the door. He looked up slowly preparing for Barry’s greeting. Instead of Barry’s sunny disposition he was greeted with the stoic face of the man he’d been annoyed with at the pub. 

“Oh, hello Greg! What are you doing out here? Were you waiting for me?”

“Um, yeah kind of. I was hoping to talk to you.”

“Sure, no problem. Oh! This is Mycroft Holmes by the way; he’s the one who’s helping us out.”

Mr Holmes held out his hand and said in a crisp tone, “A pleasure.”

Greg smiled and shook firmly.

“Now, why’d you need to talk to me?”

“Well, I remembered you asking all those questions about the marketplace and how something weird is going on, and I kind of noticed the same thing. You see, the stall opposite mine is really popular and I was a bit jealous and bored and started watching the people coming out of there and lots of them were carrying stacks of paper. Honestly I have no idea if it’s important or not, I just felt the need to tell you.”

Holmes interrupted, “You didn’t happen to read what was written on them, did you?”

“Sort of. The title of the top paper said something along the lines of information concerning something beginning with j.”

“How weird,” Barry said.

“And which stall was this?”

“The new massage stall.”

“A little concerning that a place meant for relaxation is giving out paperwork, especially with a title that sounds like something from a solicitor’s office.”

“Yeah, exactly!”

The three stood contemplating for a moment. Greg was unsure exactly how he was contributing considering he knew very little about the investigation but it felt nice to have chipped in a little. This confirmed to him his initial interest in the force and suggested that he would feel happy in such a job – it was the best choice for him. Barry cleared his throat and raised his eyebrows towards the grey-suited man who had moved his fingers to his chin in a pose that looked similar to ‘The Thinker’ besides the fact that he was not seated. The man looked over a removed his fingers. Both him and Barry guided Greg into the small grey space that was the office. They each took a seat in the sturdy leather brown chairs – Barry sat behind the desk and the other two in the seats in front of it.

He began, “This fits with one of the theories we proposed for the current tax records of the marketplace being so obnoxiously high. My attention was drawn to the number so I decided to tip-off the Police here to take a closer look at the situation. Unfortunately, we’ve had trouble putting together any evidence besides the slightly off numbers. You may have helped us further the investigation.”

“Basically, lad, Mycroft here works in the government and he noticed the weird numbers. So far we’ve been trying to work out why there’s been an huge increase in money going out and we’ve had very little luck. We thought they could be spending money doing up some of the buildings or paying some extra cleaners, but when it didn’t seem likely Mycroft came down to see if he could help. We were both – well I was, scared of something bigger and much more illegal going on than some extra spending but so far they’ve been very good at covering their tracks. We did originally want to put Mycroft undercover but his work in London has been a bit of a problem, so we were sort of stuck really.”

“I have a question.”

“Go ahead, lad.”

“Why didn’t you ask another Officer or something to help?”

“Strangely enough that was what we were discussing before you appeared.”

“Huh, so what are you going to do now?”

“We basically want to see if there’s a connection between the new massage place and the managers of the marketplace itself. That way we can see if your observation fits properly into our theory.”

“And what’s the theory”

“A drug cartel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter this time round. It just fits the narrative better to make the next one longer.  
> Also, yes, the chapter titles are going to all be song titles/lyrics. Until I run out of them that is. What can I say, I'm just bad at titles.
> 
> ([Going Underground - The Jam](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AE1ct5yEuVY))


	3. Dinner Doesn’t Feel Right

Earlier that week if anyone had said that when Greg left high school he’d end up being a part of an investigation for a drug cartel, he would have ignored them. A tiny taste of police work and he was completely ecstatic. He drove back home from their meeting in the best mood ever and happily screamed The Clash at the top of his lungs. Barry and Mycroft assured Greg that they would get a few more people working on the case - including an undercover inspector. Apparently Kathryn Webber was somebody Mycroft had been acquainted to in the past who was deemed reliable and would most likely stay undetected until they understood the situation better. She wasn’t going to make any sudden moves, just become a regular customer.

Greg was unbelievably excited. Once he’d reached the house he’d tried to tone it down a fair bit, he didn’t need his mum to get worried about the investigation. Besides, he was completely safe. He would have someone new to talk to at work as well which would be a nice change of pace.  
Greg greeted his mum and asked if she needed any help preparing dinner. She said it would be finished soon enough so he could just set the table. Greg did so. The two sets of cutlery didn’t take long to move and so he joined his mum in the kitchen for a chat. Whilst she waited for vegetables to properly boil Greg broached the subject of moving out whilst leaning on the counter.

“How would you feel about me maybe moving in with Marcus?”

“Have you decided anything yet?”

“Sort of. I talked to Marcus about it and he’d be happy to let me stay for a bit until I get started with some police work. If I completely mess up at least it wouldn’t really have costed me anything. I have some money saved and I only need a few more hundred until I can pay the deposit of a flat somewhere.”  
“You’ve been doing a fair amount of planning. I’m surprised you didn’t ask me about all this earlier.”  
“I think you were either at work or asleep.”

“Well that summarizes my life pretty nicely.”

The veg had finished cooking and Ms Lestrade finished plating up adding the sauce over top of the fish. They both grabbed their plates and sat down to their meal. Eating with his mother was going to be one thing he would miss when he moved out. They chatted about what his friends were doing and how a fair amount of them were going on party holidays. Greg asked about his mum’s work friends and all the gossip of the now legendary soap thief. It was the fourth industrial-sized soap container that had disappeared at the airport within a few weeks. It had been suggested that somebody might be hoarding it for something but very little information was known. Greg itched to tell his mum about his own involvement in criminal investigation that was a bit more high stakes her office’s experience, but he hardly wanted to disappoint Barry or that daunting guy in the suit. They both seemed like formidable ally’s and he really didn’t want to get on the wrong side of them.  
Dinner was finished and the plates cleared away when there was a shrill ringing noise which cut off the proper conversation they’d wanted to have about Greg moving out. 

“Lestrade residence,” his mum answered. “Yep, he’s here I’ll pass the phone over.”

Greg looked confused at the phone in his hand, “Um, hello?”

“No need to sound so afraid. I just wanted to make sure you’d kept your word.”

“What do you mean?” Greg asked, the confusion evident to Holmes instantly.

“Nobody can know about this investigation - as I’m sure you can understand. I don’t particularly trust you, although Officer Green clearly does. This is your warning, if you tell someone I will know and I won’t be afraid to act against you.”

“Look, I told you I wouldn’t so I won’t. Why are you so worried about this anyway? Surely you have even more important things to worry about.”

“Your involvement is something I can’t control.”

“And you control everything else, do you?”

There was a pause, Greg was certain that Mycroft Holmes had hung up until he heard “Goodbye, Gregory Lestrade.”

He put the phone back slowly and his mum looked over, concerned. She asked if he was okay and he responded slightly bewildered but at least somewhat believably.

“Oh, yeah I’m fine. Just a weird conversation.”

“Who was that guy anyway? I didn’t recognize the name at all.”

“I met him in the pub the other night, he’s alright, knows a few people around here,” Greg tried to stick to the truth without giving everything away. He was extremely wary of making Mycroft angry and what kind of power he could possibly have. It made his head spin. Getting mixed up in a police investigation was one thing, but a police investigation headed by a man who seemed to have the entire city under his thumb was something else entirely.

He calmed himself down enough to excuse himself from his mum’s curiosity for a while. He went up the stairs and into his room.  
Since exams were over he’d had very little time to properly clean away all the drastic last minute study notes. His bin was overflowing with information and it felt like a representation of the previous few weeks. At least he had some powerful people that were behind him – he just hoped he didn’t go wrong.

It was half past nine when Greg woke up. He launched out of bed grabbing a random band t-shirt off the floor followed by a pair of jeans, underwear and the denim jacket shoved lazily over his chair. He rubbed his eyes of sleep and managed to get all his clothes on in record time. He just began to brush his teeth when the phone went off in the hallway. 

“Mmmpph.. Hi..” He said a mouth full of toothpaste foam.

“Heya Greg, how are things?” Barry chirped cheerfully down the phone, the complete opposite to how Greg had felt since getting out of bed. Whilst Barry was clean and alert Greg was messy and half dead.

“Yeah. Yeah, alright.” He mumbled the toothpaste still held in his mouth. He quickly dropped the phone to the sideboard and ran into the bathroom to spit it out.

“Well, enough about that… I bet your wondering why I’m ringing?”

“Yep.”

“Straight to the point, eh? What I wanted to say was, are you working today because Kathryn is going to drop by your stall.”

“I’m running a bit late but I’ll be set-up by around half-past ten, if that’s alright?”

“That’s probably fine. I was only told that she’ll be there.”

“Thanks for the warning, I guess?”

“No problem. See you around, Greg.”

Greg rolled his eyes when Barry hung up. He moved quickly to the bathroom, brushing his hair with his hands. He rushed down the stairs grabbing a random pair of vaguely clean shoes. He then took his poster tubes from the hallway and ran out the house towards the car. A denim jacket wasn’t the best choice of attire in the rain. He opened one of the back doors and laid the tubes down across the seat, before getting into the car and turning the radio on.  
His hair was still a complete mess – the lack of product made him look a bit like a fluffy cushion on top. It really didn’t match the punk aesthetic of the badges, spikes and patches adorned across his jacket. He turned into the car park thinking about how that one Clash patch was beginning to get a bit faded and cracked. Whatever, he would probably have some of the stock left after closing he could switch it with. 

He set-up the stall, as per usual, whilst keeping a watch out for Kathryn Webber. He was excited to see what a friend of Mycroft Holmes’ would be like. He didn’t seem the kind of guy to easily make acquaintances, let alone friends. He began the day by making sure Vivienne knew he was there – she made fun of how it was the first time he’d ever been late, claiming she felt instinctively that he’d been deathly ill. The banter continued for almost thirty minutes when Vi’s Uncle claimed that if she spent another 10 minutes there she’d lose an hour’s pay because ‘flirting is not work’. Greg laughed behind his back once he’d left. Vivienne was his friend, and besides he had other more important things to think about – like the investigation.  
It was fairly loud at the marketplace and Greg didn’t pay much attention to the faces amongst the crowd – just the fact there was a crowd. He served a few groups of people with his sweetest most accommodating face just in case Kathryn had somehow nabbed a place with a group of teenagers. For some reason this felt exactly like a way of proving himself worthy of being involved and he really didn’t want to mess anything up. This was serious. He didn’t need the wrath of Mycroft Holmes on him as soon as he’d made the smallest mistake. He picked at the stitching of The Clash patch on his shoulder whilst hoping to look open enough for any customers – which were slowly disappearing as it was nearing lunch break.  
Maybe he should take lunch as well.  
He grabbed his wallet from his back pocket and quickly made it to the food court whilst nobody was around his stall. He grabbed a chicken mayo sandwich with a random packet of crisps, paid and rushed back. Luckily, it seemed that no-one had been to his stall so he sat down in instant relaxation and took a large bite out of the sandwich.

A girl with short blonde hair approached the opposite stall.

Maybe that was her?  
Whilst he chewed he casually looked around the market place. It would be too weird to stare. She knocked and walked into the massage place casually. Maybe it wasn’t her. She seemed to be a frequent visitor. Greg tugged on his jacket collar, trying to peek into the door just when it closed behind her and he could see her in the cream coloured longue. She was greeted and then Greg was left guessing exactly where she had gone in the weird stall decorated with spotlights and candles.

Greg finished his sandwich and went back to serving customers. More and more customers had been approaching the stall recently due to Greg’s amendments and he was getting nearer to his goal every day. Not that Greg was thinking about that. His mind wandered to the mysterious girl in the leather jacket and Mycroft’s friendship with her. It really didn’t see like they’d get on. In Greg’s world Mycroft was an unreachable, intimidating person and from what he could tell Kathryn seemed fairly normal. It was perplexing. Greg then promptly decided these preconceptions needed to stop and he needed to focus on his job rather than consider all the possible traits you would need to somehow know Mycroft Holmes. But then, he knew Mycroft Holmes. Did that make him a certain type of person?  
He pushed that thought back into his head for later this evening and helped a small child pick up the badge they’d just brought and promptly dropped on the floor. The kid smiled their thanks whilst their Mother actually said the words. Greg responded whilst he thought about the stock. If he sold 5 more badges and 4 posters today the day wouldn’t be wasted – despite waking up so late.

The blonde girl came out of the white building and headed towards Greg’s stall. Greg put on his best customer service face.

“Hiya, you looking for anything in particular?” 

“No, not really. Just browsing.”

Maybe it wasn’t Kathyrn. He wasn’t exactly sure how talking to someone undercover was supposed to work – maybe this was what was meant by ‘dropping by’. Nothing made complete sense, but Greg hoped everything would turn out alright by the end of the day and his questions would be answered. The blonde girl looked at his stock for a long while a chose a random Sex Pistols badge, paid, and shoved it in her bag. 

After she’d left Greg looked confusingly at the shoppers, the lines on his forehead standing out a little. He stood like that for an almost too long amount of time when Vivienne came over and distracted him from the staring.  
She was slightly ticked off from all the work she was doing today and got annoyed when Greg wasn’t really paying attention to her.

“What’s up with you?”

“Just, I don’t know if that was her..”

“What are you on about?”

“It doesn’t matter, sorry for being so far away.”

“it’s alright, women are used to being ignored. Who’s this girl that’s got you so distracted?”

“I’ve never met her, or at least I don’t think so. Anyway, it’s not important, how’s your day been going?”

They chatter up until people start leaving to get dinner. Vivienne tells him all about her Uncle and how her patience is waning and she might just leave before it gets too much. Greg supports her decision but has very little advice to offer. Their conversation is a little strained because Greg constantly thinks about how great it would be to share about the investigation and how exciting it is for his career. At one point he almost blurted out the entire story about Mycroft Holmes and his weird connections and demands. In the car home, Greg decides to drop by the Police station just to see if Barry or Mycroft is around – he really wants to be updated on the investigation and is set to burst with excitement as he enters the station for the second time that week.

“Hello, would you mind seeing if Barry Green is around?”

“No problem, let me just check if he’s in his office. What is your name?”

“Greg Lestrade.”

“Take a seat, Greg.”

He sits on the chair which has peeling leather and springs directly in a place which makes it the most uncomfortable thing he’s ever sat on. The secretary talks on the phone and then to her colleague. The phone rings amidst the silence which feels like it stretches on for far too long. Barry can’t have gone far. Greg is fairly sure he’s supposed to be around right now. He puts his feet further apart and back together again whilst winding his hands together on his lap.

“Oh! Greg, I forgot to say - Officer Green is just making his way back from a meeting. If you like I’ll make you a coffee.”

Greg opened his eyes widely and responded that he would love a coffee. He didn’t habitually drink it but right now caffeine sounded great. Besides asking instead for tea might make him sound like a spoilt child – an image he always tried to avoid. The lady spent a minute waiting for the machine to finish pouring into the small white paper cup. She gathered a small pot a milk and sugar. He came over to the machine, took one sugar packet, ripped the top and stirred it. The milk was too much hassle. He sipped from the cup appreciatively and sat back in his chair.

“Ah! Greg!”

He lowered the cup from his mouth, “How was your meeting?”  
They both stood up together.

“Just some statistics and stuff. Anyway, I’m going to meet Mycroft for dinner in about half hour for an informal meeting, fancy joining us?”

He agreed although he felt slightly weird about having a fancy dinner in his denim jacket. Mycroft Holmes was sure to pick a completely gorgeous and expensive restaurant. They flagged down a taxi and chatted all the way to the restaurant. About half way through the conversation Barry suddenly mentioned Greg’s mum and he was reminded to ring her because he was definitely going to miss dinner. Once they’d got out the taxi Barry went inside the dimly lighted, cosy-looking restaurant, and Greg went to find a payphone to make his call.  
He explained that he met up with a group of friends and decided to go out for dinner. It was a fairly regular occurrence so she didn’t question him too much. He realized after the call that the entire way through he was fiddling with his hair trying to get it to look perfectly spiked and messy.  
He turned his collar up against the wind and walked into the place trying to spot Barry. He heard him laughing loudly and turned his head towards the table near the right-hand corner of the restaurant. 

Mycroft Holmes was in a suit that probably would cost the deposit Greg needed for a flat. He seemed at complete ease in this kind of setting. Barry and him seemed to get on fairly well. Greg felt like a bit of a spare park in his tattered jacket. He sat down when Barry had finally caught his eye. He had no idea what was being discussed but listened none the less.  
A waiter came over and Greg was undecided on what to eat. The menu was ridiculously out of his price range and the two men must have noticed his apprehension when ordering because after he’d settled on a lamb dish with potato fritters and some amazing sounding tomato sauce, they promised in fairly hushed tones they’d pay for his meal. Greg mumbled his thanks, slightly embarrassed.

“So, Greg. How’s your work been going?” Barry asked, trying to get the conversation to include him a bit more.

“Um… Well, the same as usual I suppose. Just trying to earn enough to move out.”

“Where are you planning on going?” Mycroft asked.

Greg was fairly sure that Mycroft already knew exactly where he wanted to go. He answered anyway and began talking about how he wanted to be on the Police Force somewhere where it wasn’t so quiet. Barry laughed at that, claiming that everywhere was hectic and he only needed to look at the past few weeks to see it.

“I suppose you’re right, but something draws me to the City. I’m not entirely sure why I want to leave, this place is pretty great.”

“Maybe it’s because you’ve lived here you’re entire life. Wanting to experience something different isn’t a bad decision.” 

“I don’t know if it’s a good or bad decision, I just want to see something different and louder.”

They continued to talk about the merits of living in a more populated area. Greg was surprised that Mycroft liked to be an anonymous face in the crowd when he stood out so ardently here. He wondered after a short while how Mycroft even became involved in such a tiny speck on the map. He considered asking until the food arrived and Greg decided he should actually be focusing on remembering every second of his amazing smelling lamb. The meat was perfectly grilled and the scent of tomato and basil rose from his plate. He looked over at the other two men to see them both staring at him. 

When he looked up Barry smiled and said, “Well, okay, we’ll leave you two to it then.”  
Mycroft covered his mouth with his hand and Greg lowered his head a little in an attempt to make the heat on his face look less ridiculous. He was excited for the meal but it felt kind of embarrassing to admit considering the kind of people Mycroft probably usually ate with.

“Okay, so now we can stop thinking about dinner we should discuss the actual issue.” 

“Yes, that sounds like a good course of action. I suppose we ought to begin with how my associate didn’t find any drugs.” Mycroft explained to Greg.

“Shit, oh, sorry.” Greg hummed in between mouthfuls of the nicest meal he’d had in forever. 

“It’s fine. It’s really frustrating. I’m really unsure where I’m supposed to take the case next to be honest. Mycroft, any ideas?”

“I’m not entirely sure either – I have a theory but I’m unsure on how to progress it. We might need someone with a bit more free time to ask because my new job is taking up a considerable amount of time.”

“Sorry, I know this is a weird time to ask, but how did you meet? I don’t quite understand it.”

Mycroft and Barry looked taken aback for a full five seconds when Barry laughed really loudly.

“Well it’s a weird story but he was seeing one of my kids whilst they were in University together. They’re not together now but he proved useful before so we kept in touch. God, that must have been a few years ago now.”

“Oh, I see.”

He quietly sat and chewed his food, waiting for the men to continue their important conversation. When they didn’t and also chewed their food quietly he decided to intervene. Swallowing, he said “So your friend didn’t find any drugs and that means that they definitely aren’t selling, right?”

“I know Kathryn is entirely thorough, she would find anything if it was there.” 

“Okay, sorry I underestimated her.” Greg rolled his eyes a little. He knew that he was being ridiculous but it was annoying to be accused of something he clearly wasn’t saying.

Barry excused himself from the table saying if he didn’t go to the toilet he would burst. The atmosphere became more serious as soon as he left. Greg really didn’t want to be left alone with such a weirdly overprotective guy.

“You apologize too much.”

“Should I apologize about that?”

Mycroft raised his eyebrows, holding his drink in his hand “If you want to then go ahead.”

“That sounds like you’ll be unsurprised if I do.”

“I can’t deny it.” He smiled and looked down at his drink, tipping it towards his mouth.

Barry grabbed Mycroft’s shoulder from behind and Greg jumped slightly, surprised at how quick he’d been. Mycroft didn’t flinch and instead inched slowly away from the touch. They finished their main courses whilst discussing what to do next. Greg was mostly just listening to Barry’s suggestions which Mycroft then refuted for some logistical reasons. He savored the good food and good company, he felt relaxed and open among these two. They seemed to be able to ignore him and Greg wasn’t upset about his lack of involvement – it was easier not to think.

They decided that the best course of action was to put different plain-clothed people in and around the stall to see if they could spot anything weird. Mycroft assured Barry that someone was definitely going to be arrested. They only had to keep waiting. Barry was less convinced, he’d seen these kinds of cases go on for years and years where the Police knew something was wrong but couldn’t entirely prove it. Then there was the issue of Greg being followed walking home from the pub. Mycroft didn’t seem as concerned as Barry was. Barry was touchingly worried and promised he’d try to lookout more for him. Greg assured him he would be fine.

The conversation then moved to Mycroft’s personal life which he seemed distinctly uncomfortable being asked about even though it was the entirely normal questions of how he’s been and if he’s seen a mutual acquaintance. Mycroft’s graduate job was apparently going quite well so far, he was looking to a hire an assistant and that’s about all Barry managed to get out of him. They laughed about the secrecy of his personal life, and Mycroft was incredibly quiet after that twiddling the edge of his napkin as if straightening it out. 

“Are we ordering dessert or more drinks?” Greg asked with a trace of excitement in his voice.

“That depends on how full everyone is, I suppose.”

They agreed that they could probably manage a dessert and another drink each. Mycroft went for a custard tart with a dusting of icing sugar, Barry had a lime and honey sorbet and Greg went for a slightly ridiculous crème brûlée inspired cheesecake. They re-ordered their drinks (coke for Greg, a red wine for Barry and a whisky for Mycroft,) and steered the conversation away from Mycroft and work. They instead talked about Barry’s family who seemed like an entirely lovely group of people – if a little strange. Their eldest son had just had twin boys so their entire living room was littered with toys which was a bit of an issue when they already had too little space for the whole family. He spoke fondly for some length about jelly getting stuck down a sofa when Mycroft actually began to join in the conversation again saying he could imagine his brother doing such a thing to ‘check its properties’. Greg had little idea what that meant but felt the need to giggle along with Barry. 

The desserts were put down on the table and eaten within moments. Greg had begun talking a little more liberally about his home life and visiting his dad’s house. Neither Mycroft or Barry seemed to pity him which was a relief. He recounted a story of when his mum had forgotten he was at his dad’s and reported him as a missing person. Barry said he remembered the panic in Greg’s mother’s eyes quite vividly. During this exchange, Mycroft had swiftly paid the bill and asked the waiter to call a cab for Greg and himself. They ended the night with a brief suggestion of notifying each other if any thoughts were had on the market situation. 

Mycroft held the door of the cab open to Greg as they waved at Barry crossing the road. Greg shoved his hand into his jean pockets and ducked into the car nodding his thanks.

“Afraid you’re sharing with me – our destinations are fairly close compared to Barry’s house.”

“Oh, okay then. How’d you know where I was going?”

“I just did.”

Orange reflections scattered across the cloth seats as they reached a more populated part of town. Greg was still sitting quite tensely and he was sure Mycroft noticed how uncomfortable he was; he was yet to say anything though, which was appreciated.

“Where are you going then?”

“One of my offices.”

“I have a few questions about that sentence but the main one is why are you not going home? It’s getting quite late now.”

Mycroft didn’t say very much for a little while, he traced the top of his seatbelt quietly until he said “I like working.”

“Is having dinner work?”

“It is.” He looked at Greg for a moment and then continued to stare out his window. Greg wasn’t entirely sure if he should keep the conversation up, he wasn’t too bothered about the journey being quiet. Usually riding in taxis meant a very loud drunken conversation with his mates about whatever was on their minds – normally some girl they’d failed to impress in the pub. This memory might be a welcome change to the embarrassment in taxis following a night out.

“Is here alright?” the driver asked.

Greg said it was.

Just before he shut the door to the cab Mycroft quickly said, “Goodbye, Greg,” and continued surveying the street with a watchful eye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dinner Doesn’t Feel Right is a lyric from [Kyoto Garden by Spector](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3fxIeZDLEFo) the video is a bit weird but I love the song.
> 
> Anyways, yes I updated slightly early! Mainly because I had a weekend off so I'm a bit ahead. I'm actually up to chapter 6 now and I hope I can actually finish this before my summer begins. I'm probably going to do a few more short fics in the meantime like the [Nathan Barley one](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13631508) I uploaded fairly recently because I had a lot of fun doing something brief.


	4. Restless Year

Greg’s week had been dull. He’d been working and saving and reading true crime novels at home. Real-life policing seemed much less dramatic and tended to be more about waiting around for evidence than anything else. It was frustrating not being able to do anything, so Greg took it upon himself to be a bit more proactive in the investigation.

After lunch, of a very exciting cheese sandwich, Greg’s eyes were drawn to a worker at the stall who was taking some rubbish out. He watched until they went out a fire exit and then followed closely behind with some cling film for cover. He got to the door just as it was shutting and waited until it swung back to slip out into the concrete courtyard. He hid behind the bin on the other side of the door to the worker. When they had left he rushed out to have a rifle through the bin. Just as Greg was reflecting on how ridiculous his justification was he’d reached down the layers of plastic bottles, empty incense bottles and burnt out glass candles and pulled out a piece of paper that was etched with a variety of numbers and symbols he didn’t recognize. He pocketed it along with a leaflet advertising a spa getaway. Maybe their money was going on this?

He made his way back into the marketplace quickly, hoping his stall wasn’t a complete mess after leaving it on such a whim. He came back to Vi serving a young girl who was holding out the coins for a glittery badge of some kind.   
  


“Ah, thanks so much Vi. You’re the best.”  
  


“You know it. Anyway after doing your job for you, I was wondering if I could talk to you about something.”  
  


“Yeah sure, what’s up?”  
  


“You know your friend Andy?”  
  


“Yeah,”  
  


“Well I heard he’s interested in Dana and she’s not interested.”  
 

“Why are you telling me? He’s got an even more hopeless love life than me. It really doesn’t matter.”  
  


“Alright, alright calm down. I was just hoping you could tell him to lay off or give up or something because Dana is a friend and new girlfriend is the jealous type. Honestly, it’s really starting to piss me off because I could do without her complaining about the amount of phone calls she’s getting.”  
 

“Wait, did you say girlfriend?”  
  


“Yeah. Her name’s Grace, d’you know her?”  
  


“Grace? Really?! This is the best news ever.”  
  


“What are you talking about?”

Greg explained to Vivienne the awkward relationship he had with Grace because of her mum’s weird dream that they’d end up dating. If Grace was attracted to girls – and had a girlfriend – then her mum could stop pestering him about his apparent inevitable fairytale ending with her.  
It also meant that Grace wasn’t a completely stuck-up prefect but was actually pretty brave.  
  


“Well, whatever just don’t tell anyone okay? Especially not your mum – I’m pretty sure Dana’s parents don’t know. I’m not sure about Grace’s either, to be honest. It’s a bit of a mess but hey that’s lesbians for you.”  
 

“I’ll take your word for it.”

* * *

 

That evening, after getting back home and actually selling a few things (including a poster Greg had had since the beginning of time), Greg sorted through the papers he’d picked up on his desk. Some of the receipts he had really weren’t worth anybody’s time – just endless amounts of random snack food, presumably for the mini-reception within the shop. He ran his fingers through is dark hair eyes flickering across the page looking for any tiny bit of information that would actually make sense. The random scrawled numbers and letters on crumpled lined paper couldn’t be more incomprehensible. Pressure seemed to be mounting in Greg’s life – the need to leave home, wanting to be a part of the investigation despite lack of knowledge on anything crime-solving related and keeping multiple secrets from different people.

His mum called him down for dinner and he ate sparingly. He twisted spaghetti round his fork and plate until he was asked the inevitable, how he was feeling. He evaded the question best he could by talking about how he’d been selling more stuff at the stall recently. It sort-of worked and they continued to discuss how he was going to move out. Obviously, it was some source of panic for his mum who would be living alone for the first time in years when he finally left.

The divorce between his dad and mum wasn’t something he dwelled on often. He supposed it was just a slightly skewed idea of a normal family for him – but for his mum it had been a form of loss. He didn’t feel unfulfilled or different without a proper dad, it was just how things were. Perhaps it would’ve been different if they’d actually got on but fortunately, or unfortunately depending on how you look at it, they had almost no reason to talk to one another so opted not to. It was mutually agreed that Greg and his mum could cope without talking to his dad. Besides, he lived up in Scotland now so they wouldn’t really bump into each other without some serious effort – which neither party was willing to give. 

The scary concept of his mum living alone was unappealing but a necessity when Greg considered his own independence. For some reason Greg could never picture himself as a family man where people relied on him and vice-versa so it felt more realistic to make himself able to survive alone.  
  


“You know how it is Greg – I’ll be so worried about you. I mean, think about the other day when Barry rang me from the pub. It’s just if you do move in with Marcus, who’s going to make sure nothing happens to you?”  
  


“It was a one-off, mum. It hasn’t happened since, and besides I was fine that night as well. I didn’t get hurt or anything.”  
 

The conversation went back and forth for a while until Greg managed to convince his mum that there were far more benefits to him leaving and she admitted she just might feel a little lonely staying here alone. He knew she’d be fine on her own, she just didn’t want anything to change just yet.  
  


* * *

  
Greg finally sorted through the last of his stock. The merchandise was spread all across his bedroom floor and separated into three heaps – one very small pile for him to keep, a larger pile for the stall’s last few weeks and a pile to gift to friends. He’d kept a poster and 2 badges to replace any that fell off his jacket. Greg was just happy to be working towards something with an ending. He’d organized a finish date with the marketplace’s owner already. It made perfect sense to round off sales towards the end of the month.  
  


“Greg, phone call!” his mum shouted up the stairs.  
  


“I’ll get it up here – thanks.”  
 

“Hello?”  
  


“Afternoon, Greg.”  
  


“Oh, hiya Mycroft. Has anything happened?”  
  


“You are withholding evidence.”  
  


“Wait, what?”

  
“Sorry, was that unclear? You have evidence you haven’t presented to me or the police for the investigation.”  
  


“What evidence? I know what withholding it means, come on Mycroft.”  
  


“If you insist on continually playing ignorant I’m afraid I’ll have to force you to give it in.”  
  


“Look, I have a really bad memory. If you just tell me I’ll happily take it wherever.”  
  


“You went searching outside the back entrance to the marketplace and picked up some papers thrown away by the person you were following.”  
  


“Oh right, well I couldn’t understand them so I just sort of left them on my desk.”  
  


“What makes you think that if you didn’t understand them that no-one would be able to? Anyway, I’ll arrive in three minutes to collect them. I’d prefer it if your mother didn’t answer the door.”

Greg rolled his eyes as the line went dead. Mycroft really did like to get angry about the smallest things – it had only been two days since he’d found them. It was so unlikely that they would lead to anything important at all. The more Greg tried to work out what the notations were about the less confident he felt about keeping them. At least he hadn’t thrown them away in frustration yet, or Mycroft would make him rifle through his own bin, whilst he watched to make sure he was looking hard enough.

He grabbed the papers and walked down the stairs to tell his mum he was going out to meet a friend and waited outside the door. He leaned up against the wood, hoping his mum wasn’t looking outside the window and wondering why he wasn’t walking.

He’d spotted Mycroft walking down the street, which was fairly jarring considering he’d only ever seen him be driven, or already inside of a building.  
  


“Are you just going to take them from me or are you going to acknowledge my existence?”  
  


“Calm down Greg. This isn’t a personal attack on you, I am merely doing my job ensuring you remain useful towards the investigation.”  
  


“Yeah okay then,” Greg said with distain.  
  


“You’re being ridiculous. You don’t realize how much of a liability it is having someone like you have access to case files.”  
  


“Someone like me? What about you then? This whole thing is ridiculous.”  
  


“Yes, well, I don’t usually have arguments on doorsteps. I’m going to walk back to my car. Joining me?”

Greg followed Mycroft a few steps behind with his arms crossed. It was a bit stupid to look like an annoyed toddler but he wanted to piss Mycroft off a little bit. He deserved it for prancing into his life for no reason and creepily knowing what he was doing at all times.  
Mycroft opened the door for Greg and then hopped into the driver’s seat.  
  


“Stop pouting.”  
  


“No.”  
  


“I don’t understand why you’re so upset.”  
  


“How did you know?”  
  


“About your withholding evidence?”  
  


“No, about me pretending to be Joe Strummer whilst I brush my teeth.”

   
“Look, I’m sorry. But like I explained you really are a liability, especially to my position. I don’t usually get asked to become involved in cases – it just so happens that my work coincided with Barry’s.”  
  


“And what is your work?”  
  


“It’s difficult to properly explain, I would usually say I have a small government role – which is true.”  
  


“I’ll be honest, I don’t really care about that. I just want to know if and why you’ve been stalking me. I don’t really enjoy the idea of you keeping an eye on me like that.”  
  


“I have been ‘keeping an eye’ on you, but only because it’s really important that I don’t let this case go on too long and lose my position.”  
 

“Why’s that?”  
  


“Because it’s my job and involves things I can’t really talk about with you. What do you want me to say?”  
  


“Firstly, how about you stop suggesting that I am a worthless observer and am actually involved in things, just like you and Barry. Also, I want you to apologize because you don’t understand how scary it is to know that you’re being monitored constantly.”  
  


“Ok. I’m sorry and you’re right. You are involved, otherwise I would not be talking to you like this.”  
  


“Thank you. That’s all I needed. You can have the papers now.”  
  


He finally unfolded his arms and handed them over. Mycroft flicked his eyes across them fairly quickly and switched some things to his left hand. He put the ones in his right hand in his lap whilst he folded the ones in the left. He put those pieces back in Greg’s hand and pocketed the rest in his jacket. Greg took a quick look at the things he was left with, it was the undecipherable papers along with a brochure. The receipts had obviously been kept by Mycroft.  
  


“Whilst we’re in the car I think we ought to go see Officer Green.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is [Restless Year by Ezra Furman](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NDOenFQazrA) \- which is a song that more reflects the atmosphere again rather than the actual story. I suppose I also ought to mention that my essays/presentation and eventual exams are getting closer & I'm getting busier because of all the Other Stuff I do outside uni - hopefully I'll still be able to update monthly!


	5. We Rule The School

Being driven around by Mycroft was not an experience Greg ever expected to have. He was a fairly relaxed driver and was mellow at the wheel, which seemed to be in direct contrast to his controlling personality. Maybe it was because he was undoubtedly in command of the car, Greg thought to himself.

“You do realize I drive myself where I need to be most days?”

“Of course.” He didn't believe him.

The car came to a halt at the front of the police station, so the conversation didn’t continue for much longer – thank God. Mycroft went over to the receptionist asked for Officer Green and was told to go right ahead. He experienced none of the waiting around and phone calls which Greg did whenever he’d wanted to talk to Barry. It was quite refreshing to be alongside someone who was respected enough to just walk into places undisputed. Greg quietly hoped one day for that kind of reaction. 

“Hello Mycroft!” Barry sounded very excited and hopeful when Mycroft stepped into the room. Greg knew he wasn’t expected so tried to look mainly at the floor as he followed Mycroft’s lead.

“Lestrade might have discovered something and I want you to look at it.” He beckoned at Greg to step forward and hand over the papers. Greg stepped forward, retrieved the now crumpled things from his pocket and held his hands facing out.

“Okay, okay. Hold on. Let me have a proper read.” Barry walked forward, took them, then sat down at his desk. He scanned them quickly looking about as baffled as Greg did at a first glance. Mycroft looked slightly concerned that he hadn’t understood straight away so resorted to explaining his animation at the documents.

“These notations have both numbers and letters seemingly randomized, or they seem to be at a first glance. Upon closer inspection I noticed that the numbers coincided with common times for flights. They also reference airports and maybe taxi numbers or stock numbers and some other initials which I assume are to throw people off or maybe be related to names. I’m not overly sure on what everything means and I think this needs to be properly decoded first but it’s a very important find.”

“Right, do you know someone who could decode this? Because I’ll be honest I don’t think anyone in the force who I know could do it.”

“No problem. I’ll sort it out tonight.”

“Thanks. I owe you. And you as well Greg. The question now, I suppose, is what does this change about the investigation?”

“Well something involving flights. We could still be looking at some kind of drug’s smuggling syndicate – but I’m not entirely sure anymore. It would be a very expensive operation.”

Barry and Mycroft discussed at length how they should stomach the information. Barry thought Officers should be placed at the nearest airports and they could arrest and question passengers. Mycroft disagreed suggesting that there was almost no evidence for such an open prosecution. He instead argued they should wait until the notes were deciphered properly so they could consider which airport they were more likely to turn up at and when. This would also save the force a fair bit of money, which Barry was keen to do.

Greg felt rather uninvolved in the conversation and began to stare at things in Barry’s office, like the photo of him and his late Wife which had a crumpled piece of paper obstructing a quarter of the picture. Just as he was working out if the paper had been handwritten or not he heard his name crop up in the conversation.

“Greg, honestly I’m so thankful that you found this. It’s really helped us further the investigation. You’ve been a real help.”

“No problem, I have almost no idea what I did but I’m glad it made a small difference.”

“Anyway, as much as I love talking to you Barry I need to go and figure out what this actually means. I’ll phone you later.”

“By all means,”

Greg was unsure if he should stay in the office or follow Mycroft. He was a bit interested in types of people Mycroft knew, but it would be weird to tag along on something personal like him meeting with an old friend or whatever.

Barry suddenly asked how Greg was getting back at which point Mycroft seemed to remember his existence and offer to drop him home. He took the offer reluctantly – as flippantly as it was offered, but he really couldn’t be bothered to play 21 questions with Barry on his mums entire life. Really Mycroft being utterly uninterested was much better than the hyper interest Barry had.

“Weird question; but Barry said that you lived in London. Isn’t it a bit drastic to drive here every day?”

“I usually stay with a friend if it gets too late.”

“Oh.”

“I do have friends, Greg.”

Greg shifted around awkwardly in his car seat. It was much darker than it had been when they’d went into the station, proving that Mycroft and Barry really did talk about the implications of the evidence he’d found for a long time.  
Mycroft took a turning Greg was fairly sure they didn’t go near on the way to the station. He furrowed his brow a bit towards the driver’s seat. Mycroft caught his look in the mirror and raised his left eyebrow but didn’t speak.  
Greg tensed up a little – Mycroft’s body language was far too serious for his liking.

The car came to a halt outside a drab grey building that was flecked with the beginnings of some kind of moss. 

“I’ll be back momentarily.”

He shut the door in Greg’s face before he had chance to ask if he could come along. 

\--

After around ten minutes of pulling a thread from the sleeve of his jacket, Mycroft returned and Greg’s head quickly whipped up.

“Alright?” He asked.

“Mhmm. Time to get you back I guess.”

“Mycroft’s taxi service.”

“If only I was actually charging for this.”

They both shared a smile as Mycroft backed out from his parking spot.

“Is that moss growing or some weird mold?”

“On the side of the building?” Mycroft asked, Greg nodded in response, “I think it’s probably moss. Likely an andreaeopsida.”

“I have no idea what that is but I’m sure you’re right.”

“I’m always right.”

They pulled up to Greg’s house and he felt ready to fizz over out into the street. The weird quiet which had continued the full ten minutes back to his house made things incredibly awkward in the car and the bubbles in his stomach were threatening to start another stupid conversation about something random which Mycroft would probably not appreciate. 

“Thanks for dropping me off.”

“No problem.”

He left the car, took one look back at Mycroft sitting at the steering wheel checking his mirrors, shoved his hand in his pockets for his key and fumbled into the house.

Greg’s bed seemed to be calling him from all the running around and organizing he’d been doing recently and he crashed as soon as he reached it. It had hit ten when they’d been out, and although that was a bit early for Greg the frustration at Mycroft and just being around him really took it out of him. He’d learned that arguing with him would be almost deadly as far as his career was concerned – but it was continually irritating to agree with someone he was still unsure about.  
It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Mycroft, the guy clearly knew what he was doing. It just was exhausting to be around someone that was almost too perfect – it made him feel inadequate and amplified his mistakes.

Greg toed his shoes off, grabbed some PJs and went to get ready for bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> S'cuse the change in formatting. I'm just feeling particularly lazy today. Title is from [Belle and Sebastian](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M4oRpcG_hR4) and made sense as a title at the time - I guess because the investigation is furthered or something. I'm around 2/3 chapters ahead of this one and planning to wrap it up by the middle of summer (hopefully). Wish me luck!


	6. A New England

Early morning phone calls were something Greg was sure his mum was bound to start questioning the more he received them. The past two weeks he’d be awoken by such phone calls explaining how the case was going from both Barry and Mycroft. Mycroft somehow always seemed to be on the move and had very little time to actually talk to Barry or Greg face to face. His job had apparently become far more important than it was previously. In any case, Greg was happy to continue to be included in what was happening.

The newest update involved them finally connecting which airport the stall seemed to have an extortionate amount of flights in their notations. Barry explained that they were planning to put a few plain-clothes Officers through airport security and then to the gates of the flights that the notes depicted. It was quite a drive to East Midlands Airport and it was recommended by all that Greg should definitely not put in an appearance.

How he ended up in Mycroft’s taxi that evening was a confusing turn of events. Despite all the warnings from both Mycroft and Barry, Greg really didn’t want to miss the excitement. He rang Vivienne and asked very politely if she’d look after the stall if he helped her set-up because he had an important event to go to. She said she’d broach the subject with her Uncle and see if she’d be allowed to help. Reluctantly, he allowed her to on the basis that he didn’t pay her for today. Vivienne was a little upset by that and almost backed out when Greg arrived at the marketplace. She’d argued that he wasn’t paying her like her Uncle would and Greg just agreed to pay her for the sake of ease. Besides, he didn’t trust anyone to look out for his stall.

Greg got back into the car satisfied that Vi would do a good job. He opened up his mum’s glove compartment to look through her collection of maps in the hope she had one that had East Midlands Airport on it. He looked through the index of each map, quickly scanning for the name. He found it the third one in and traced the road’s he needed to take with his pinky finger. It would probably take just over an hour to get there which was a bit more of a journey that Greg was used to driving alone. He turned the radio up and kept the map unfolded on the passenger’s seat so he didn’t get lost. It was slightly annoying not to have someone reading out directions like he would have done if he was helping his mum.   
He got slightly stuck on the motorway entrance at first, due to a traffic accident that didn’t seem to be being sorted. He tapped his fingers on the wheel in an act of frustration to relieve a little stress. It didn’t help much.  
When the cars started moving again Greg’s smile tugged at his face – this was the kind of thing he could never imagine himself doing after he’d finished school. Leaving his job behind and chasing after criminals. It wasn’t quite as dramatic as all that.

\--

Arriving at the airport Greg had no clue where he was going. He tried to follow other car’s into a parking bay but somehow managed to be alongside the taxi ranks. Struggling with the amount of bad drivers and the stress he was holding from the exciting reason he was there the emotions bubbled up inside of his head and exhibited themselves in a really terrible parking job. He straightened up as well as he could – ran some fingers through his hair and got out the car, locking it behind him.

Once out of the car he stared at his feet on the concrete, unable to believe what he did. He let out a long breath, tucked some wisps of brown hair behind his ears, stood up slightly straighter and walked towards the sign proclaiming ‘Airport entrance’. It felt strangely like bunking off on a really warm spring day in the park with his friends, apart from his surroundings being slightly more grey.   
He walked past the taxi ranks and into the grey, cold looking building with all the excitement of going on holiday. He bumped into a business man with a leather suitcase and apologized at being distracted, it was just he saw someone who looked vaguely familiar and couldn’t shake the feeling that he should follow them. The man began to get increasingly angry at Greg so he just walked away and towards departures. He suddenly realized how out of place he looked with no intention to do any travelling. He sat down in some seats adjacent to a queue of people looking for assistance. 

“Hello Greg.”

“Oh shi- hi Mycroft,” Greg stumbled looking behind his seat to find where the voice was coming from.

“You’re a bit early actually, Barry’s team are supposed to be here at quarter to.”

“Oh. What are you doing here then?”

“I could ask the same about you.”

“Fair enough.”

“Shall we go get a coffee in the departures lounge?”

Greg was surprised that Mycroft was so calm about his arrival. They walked into a door that looked suspiciously like a private business longue. Greg didn’t complain – the coffee would probably be much better here.

“Thanks,” Greg smiled over the paper cup Mycroft handed him.

“Not at all.”

“So, how’s the investigation going and that?”

“Fine I expect. Barry knows what his doing and the people behind it aren’t creative enough to work out what’s going on beforehand.”

“Ah, good, nothing can go wrong then?”

“It could but the risk is small.”

They both sipped their coffee at the same time.

“Um, so, sorry about being here.” Greg shifted in his seat.

“I can’t say I expected any less from you.”

A loud ringing started across the room, and Mycroft put his cup down onto a small table a grabbed a red phone off of the wall.  
Mycroft was much more formal when he was on the phone. Greg started to understand why he was so prickly when he talked to people. The seriousness of the situation really came across in his voice. He put the phone down and turned to face Greg.

“Barry’s here. He said he’d meet me at the fire exit near gate 37, I suppose you should come as well. Leave the coffee here.”

“Okay.”

Greg shook the feeling of sickly excited nervousness into opening the door dramatically for Mycroft to walk through and give him a strange look as if to say he could open the door himself but appreciated it anyway. The small eyebrow raise after he’d shut the door said to Greg to stop acting like a complete idiot.  
When they reached the entrance again they backed against the grey wall to a disposal area which backed onto some stretches of road which led to the runways and hangers further away from the airport. It wasn’t an aesthetically pleasing area but it served a purpose.  
Mycroft beckoned him towards the back of the red fire exit door and they stood together with fairly stony expressions on their faces until Greg thought aloud about how Barry would know they were behind the door. Mycroft informed him they’d all be meeting on this side of the door and Greg felt pretty stupid.   
Barry arrived with a small group of fully-dressed Policemen and the excited flutter in Greg’s gut made itself known again. He handed Mycroft a police radio and gave Greg a pointed look as if saying he wasn’t prepared for his arrival. He made them stand towards the back of the group whilst he headed in with one other officer. Through the swinging door Greg could just about make out the two men headed towards the queue and presumably looking for the ticket numbers pertaining to the decoded notes. 

After around 10 minutes of queue searching help was asked for through the radio to start on the back of the queue. Mycroft was asked to join them to deal with the admin of the passengers. Greg didn’t really want to be left out of the actual police work so he agreed to help out Mycroft – not that he had any idea what he was supposed to be doing.  
Half an hour or so later of asking passengers Barry’s group picked out their name and addresses Mycroft had a realization and went to talk to Barry leaving Greg with the two people they’d been talking to. He didn’t really know what to say to them apart from asking them to wait until Mycroft was back. 

Mycroft returned with an Officer who looked incredibly tired and continued to interview the girls. 

“Could you tell us if you recognize any other passengers on the plane, specifically any men.”

The pair looked at each other and nodded in recognition of the seriousness of the situation. The Officer then led them towards three more girls who were standing somberly with Barry. He led them all up and down the queue, letting them look carefully at each person. The group was confident that one man with a beard and a brown leather suitcase was somebody they’d all talked to before. They explained that he looked familiar as he was the secretary at the massage place.

Mycroft’s slight smile at being right was undercut by him straightening his tie and coughing a little. He suggested Barry took in the man for questioning and should also talk to the five girls more about their experience. Their information was limited to thinking that the massage place was sending them on a spiritual retreat of some kind. Barry organized himself and his team to take back the man in a separate car from the girls. Greg agreed to follow the police cars in his own and Mycroft’s driver agreed to take Mycroft’s car back whilst he joined Barry in one of the police cars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title obviously from a song. [This one ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aCfRcgoPxTw)to be exact.


	7. Fall Into The Trap You Made

“So what exactly happened?” Greg asked.

It’d been several hours since they’d arrived back and Barry had finally taken a break from questioning to update him and Mycroft on the situation. Greg was very restless and kept asking Mycroft what was going on. He knew more than he was revealing and it was frustrating to be ignored. Greg had confined himself to the coffee machine getting up and making two cups every time he needed something to fill the awkward atmosphere.

“Well we’ve figured out that the situation was far worse than just simply selling and supplying drugs. They were actually setting out to supply a larger human trafficking ring.”

“Seriously?” Greg looked to his side at Mycroft’s stoic face, “Don’t tell me you suspected this?”

“It makes sense if you consider the current economic situation here, a rise in unemployment can be exploited to get people to do less legal kinds of work.”

“So you did expect it?”

“Yes, I suppose so. It’s one option I certainly thought of, especially once we found out it definitely wasn’t drugs – another kind of illegal supply made sense.”

“I have one more question. How come nobody reported anyone missing? All these people just leaving – somebody should have noticed that was a bit weird right?”

Barry looked slightly surprised but answered Greg’s query by explaining that the massage place’s proposal had been a put to their victims as a spiritual retreat lasting a few months meaning that their families wouldn’t begin to worry about them until those months were over. They’d caught the operation during the second shipment of people meaning that the first people who were taken had only been gone around two weeks or so. Greg’s eyes widened at that admission, he couldn’t help but worry about the people they hadn’t managed to save in time. 

Mycroft steered them away from the topic and congratulated Barry and Greg on a completed case. Greg wasn’t entirely convinced that Mycroft was being genuine but went along with it anyway. He was excited to be a part of something that had been resolved – it would have haunted him if it hadn’t been. Barry left again to continue wrapping up the case – he wanted it finished as quickly as possible so they could properly close the operation down. 

Greg and Mycroft were left talking about the investigation for a little longer and reflecting on the past few insane weeks. Greg was much more prone to hyperbole than Mycroft. 

“I suppose we ought to stop blocking this reception area soon, I’m sure Barry wouldn’t appreciate us crowding the space.”

“True enough.”

“Could you possibly take me in your car?”

“Sure, no problem.”

Greg twirled his car keys round his fingers ahead of Mycroft. He opened the door to the passenger’s seat in a fluid movement and Mycroft raised his eyebrows but thanked Greg anyway.  
Greg turned the key starting up the radio which he promptly turned down. He then pulled away from his parking space onto the road.   
Mycroft shifted in his seat when Greg took a sharp corner. He smiled at little at Mycroft’s skittish reaction to his driving and Mycroft rolled his eyes towards the window.

“Your driving is appalling.”

“Of course it is, that’s why young males insurance prices are so high – solely because of my awful driving.”

“I wouldn’t doubt it.”

They turned onto the main road which connected Greg’s neighborhood to the police station in the main village. 

“So what are you going to do now?” Greg asked.

“Continue with my job. It’s been difficult partaking in this investigation as it is.”

“So I guess I won’t see you after this.”

“Probably not. I’m based in London these days.”

“That’s going to be a bit strange.”

“How so?”

“You and Barry not being around to fill me in on interesting crime stuff, I’m going to miss it.”

“You could always just join the police force here. I’m sure Barry would put in a good word.”

“Problem is I don’t just want to live here my whole life.”

“I remember you saying.” Mycroft paused holding his finger to his bottom lip, “How are your savings coming along?”

“Not sure as of this moment. But last time I checked I was doing pretty well, although I suppose that was before I paid Vi today to look after my stall and got petrol on the way back to the station. Why are you asking?”

“Well if money isn’t really the whole issue I don’t see why you can’t just leave. As long as you have enough to live somewhere temporarily until you can save a bit more you should be fine.”

“But what if I can’t get a job straight away? Then I won’t be able to save anything.”

“That won’t be the case.”

“That doesn’t sound creepy at all.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound odd. I just know you’ll be successful.”

“Still a bit weird.” Greg’s face tugged into a smile.

Mycroft’s eyes met Greg’s in the mirror and his face softened slightly. They turned another corner and Greg followed the house numbers down to his own. He put on the handbrake and looked over at Mycroft expectantly.

“Would it be possible to use your phone?”

Mycroft ordered a taxi from the house phone much to Greg’s mum’s confusion. Mycroft was a natural at explaining himself out of problems and calmly explained that he worked at the marketplace and his car ran out of petrol so Greg, gallantly, helped him out. Greg fumbled a little at the compliment but allowed his mum to be embarrassing just to avoid any more awkward questions. He was a little unsure why Mycroft hadn’t just explained the entire situation – it was easy to understand and was being sorted. But then he supposed he wasn’t supposed to take the car out for a joyride to the airport. The idea that Mycroft might be helping him out by not making his Mum worry presented a weird new appreciation for the man. His mum left to start on their dinner and the two waited for Mycroft’s taxi in the hallway.

“Thanks for that, y’know not making it awkward and all.”

“No problem. There’s no reason for me tell your mum what you’ve actually been doing and I’m sure it would cause an undue amount of discomfort.”

“Why’d you care about my discomfort?”

“I can still tell her if you want.”

“It’s alright. I figure it’s easier if you don’t.”

“Well, if you change your mind you know where to find me.” Mycroft smiled sarcastically raising his eyebrows a little.

“I don’t actually. Know where to find you, that is.” Greg said scratching his ear and pushing his hair back into place behind it. He couldn’t exactly work out why staying in contact with Mycroft seemed crucial but Greg really didn’t want to be rid of him yet – he also didn’t want to come across as too clingy either.

“I’ll give you a business card if you like?”

“Um, if you want to.”

“Here. I have a stack of them in my Office, turns out you don’t need to give out many business cards when you don’t really want people to know who you are.”

“Whys that?”

“It’s a headache trying to keep track of how many people have my number as it is. The amount of phone calls I get..”

“Is it really that bad? I’ll try not to ring you too much,” Greg looked at his feet scraping the floral carpet.

“Once every three years is the maximum,” Mycroft curtly pulled his coat sleeve down slightly as the tarmac crunched outside from a taxi parking and Greg’s eyes lit up slightly.

They said their goodbyes and Greg tried to wave as nonchalantly as he could manage. Mycroft nodded at him as he got into the cab telling the driver where he was going. Greg couldn’t help feeling like this was the ending.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from [3/3 by The Japanese House](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ycUkaNxanj8)


	8. Exit Out The Same Way You Came

Greg had spent the last two weeks scraping up as much money as he possibly could. He almost stooped to picking up a ten pence coin he saw in the street but realized it probably wouldn’t do much good. When he reached a sustainable amount he told his mum who was fairly surprised that he’d got it together so quickly, there was a hint of the realization that her son was going to leave but she didn’t want to discourage him.

He set his plan in motion – ringing Marcus and sorting out when would be a convenient time to come down. Marcus let him know that he had the evening off on Friday and the rest of the weekend to show him around a bit. Greg had four days to pack some clothes and necessities ready for him leaving. Now the investigation was over Greg realized how little he’d appreciated the place. He called round all his friends and let them know when he was leaving. They were also confused as to how he’d gotten things organized so quickly. September was nearing and a lot of his friends didn’t really have plans. A few of them had part-time jobs they’d kept from working Saturdays during high school and everyone else was looking for work or training in something or other.  
Greg could barely keep up with them all now. He’d taken to just talking to people that actually wanted to stay in contact with him. A group of about five who all decided to go out for drinks the day before he was due to leave.  
He’d also invited Vi on his last day of the stall being open – she’d agreed readily claiming that her friends hardly ever went out anymore. Greg warned her about being around his loud group of friends and she claimed it would be fun to meet some different people.   
Greg briefly considered even asking Mycroft along but figured it really wouldn’t be his scene what with all the loud conversations filled with references to events that Mycroft would be unaware of. Besides that issue, Greg also felt like his relationship with Mycroft was too weirdly adult to be inviting him to a send-off party. 

The day of the drinking session at their usual pub, Greg had almost finished all his packing. It was weird to look at his almost empty room and think that soon he wouldn’t be living there. He’d packed one suitcase of clothes and had a shoulder bag of other essentials like toothpaste, some hair stuff and his various forms of identification. Looking at that seemed like he was packing his life away into small little boxes ready for the boxes to break apart into an entirely new configuration.  
Before he left the house Greg once again considered phoning Mycroft to update him on his living situation. He was sure that it didn’t particularly matter to Mycroft but he wanted him to know. He bit the bullet and grabbed the phone in the hallway.

It rang three times before being answered by a friendly sounding lady.  
“Um, Hello, is this Mycroft Holmes’ number?”

“It is. Are you Greg Lestrade?”

“Yes?”

“I’ll put you through.”

The phone clicked off and back on again to a different voice.

“Hello Greg.”

“How did your secretary know it was me?”

“Assistant. She knew it was you because I told her you might ring this morning.”

“You do realize how strange it is that you knew that?”

“Not particularly, I just figured out that you might have finally got the wherewithal to leave by now.”

“Yeah, right. Well, if you know everything already I don’t know really why I’m bothering to tell you.”

“It’s more interesting coming from you.”

“Ok, fine. I’m leaving tomorrow to go live with my friend Marcus in Sheffield to see if I can get a job in the Police Force and I don’t know how it will turn out but as soon as I get a job I want to try and move out and put down a deposit on my own place and have people visit me and get through training and-“

“Are you nervous?”

“Maybe a bit. It’s such a big step y’know? I only just finished school really, and mum is just kind of panicking a little and it’s making me feel worse for leaving.”

“It’ll be fine. It’s just new for both you and your mother.”

“Didn’t you go to uni or college or anything?”

“I went to University.”

“Oh, so you were in education for quite a while longer than I have been before leaving.”

“I suppose. But I left my family when I went and had to learn how to live alone. Although, I suppose I was alone at boarding school as well. Being at university sort of forced me to do what everybody else had already done – work out how to live alone. You’re probably going to be much better than I was at that.”

“It’s nice coming from you, but I can’t help feeling that you don’t believe it.”

“There’s no reason for me to lie to you.”

“I don’t know what to say to that.”

Mycroft reminded Greg of the time and recommended he get off the phone if he wanted to meet with his friends. Greg was a little taken aback but was too worried he’d miss something to argue properly.

\--

They got to the pub at around half past seven and ordered food whilst they waited for the few latecomers. They ordered a few large pepperoni pizzas to share between them with two pitchers of beer. Vi claimed that beer was disgusting and ordered herself a fancy looking cocktail which was orange and pink in colour. She offered Greg a sip and he took it giggling at how sweet it was for alcohol. 

Andy brought Greg another pitcher of beer when he arrived with Ed. They convinced him to try and chug the entire thing. The voice in Greg’s head sounded a stern no, but with the atmosphere and everybody looking at him expectantly he raised the plastic to his mouth and downed almost the entire lot. He’d gotten to about two thirds way through when his throat suddenly closed and he spluttered into the pitcher. There were resounding responses of laughter and jeering at him not quite finishing. 

By a trip to the toilet and some weird conversations about reptiles as pets Greg realized how drunk he was. He usually wouldn’t steer the conversation towards himself, but his drunk self really didn’t mind the attention. Andy and him got into a messy speech type situation which was not the aim of the night, but was a nice way to round off his time here – even though it was strangely like a wedding where the reception had already happened before the speeches began.  
Andy proclaimed that his best mate deserved the world, Vi laughed in the corner sipping her fourth cocktail. Ed interrupted Andy reminiscing about when they’d skipped a maths lesson to go help another teacher request a fixed chair. They just ended up on the grass spinning on the chair until they got bored and finally decided to find the person they’d needed. He presented this as one of the best memories he’d had with these guys and they all agreed that their friendship had formed that day.

The realization that the time had hit midnight brought about an excitable thought from Vivienne who exclaimed that Greg was leaving that day. The mood of everyone had hit a weird mix of melancholy and bubbly excitement. 

They’d moved on from weird school memories to party memories and it was brought up that they should do prank calls like they used to at their house parties over the years.  
Unfortunately, being in the pub, they lacked a phone book. So were stumped for a little while about who to call. 

“We could just call our parents?”

“No way! My mum would just lecture me about wasting money.”

Greg put his hands in his jacket pockets, considering what to do next, when he felt the slightly frayed and tatty edge of Mycroft’s business card. He took it out and held it high above his head.

“Here! Let’s call this number.”

The group got to their feet and followed Greg, who was still holding his hand up like an old-fashioned torch, towards the phone booth at the back of the pub. He opened up the little glass screen and they all gathered round the open door whilst he put his change in the phone and carefully dialed the number.

“Mycroft Holmes’ office.”

“Yes, um,” He giggled, “This is his brother…”

The group looked at each other with anticipation at what Greg was going to say next.

“I’ll put you through,” she sounded like she was rolling her eyes, and probably was.

“Hello?”

“Hiyaa! We were just wondering if you’d considered a career in double-glazing?”

The people surrounding the booth descended into giggles.

“Well this is unexpected. I don’t think I’ve ever received a call in jest on my personal number.”

“What are you talking about? Double-glazing is the future!”

“Alright Greg, I’m going to go and finish my work now. Though this was an interesting distraction, I wish you the best for tomorrow.”

“Thanks.”

Greg put the phone down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from [ this song.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ugxzyVt3BW4)


	9. Forgetting Which Side You're On

He woke up with a headache the size of a small nation marching in preparation for some kind of national holiday. The sound of the shower amplified like some really bad house music pounding out of a cheap tinny boom box, but Greg wasn’t about to show up to Marcus’ smelling of a bad night out.  
His mum’s car was gone. She was at work. Greg was going to have to get a coach. Bringing his luggage was the most stressful part of the whole journey.   
He knew he’d manage to get it there alright, it was just a case of having everything. He’d unpacked and repacked and checked the coach timetables in a pamphlet his mum kept. A coach was due to arrive at three in the more densely populated section of the village.

He took the long route to Mainstreet after finishing off a late breakfast of scrambled eggs on toast with an entire pint of coffee. He waited at the bus stop among the grey-haired bus dwellers who often went to Sheffield for a more exciting variation of tea and a slightly different charity shop selection. 

It wasn’t exactly bittersweet leaving. It was more like staring over again. Exciting but terrifying, like tripping down stairs in the dead of night. When the bus arrived he hauled his suitcase onto the seat beside him. The bus was empty enough to do that and not look like he was just being anti-social. Not that he wanted to talk to anyone anyway. As the bus pulled away from the road with a loud exhale of steam sounding release, Greg took a breath in. Everything was going to fine. He knew that if anything went entirely wrong he could always come back here and try again at Barry’s force. But it was unlikely.

He watched a young mother get annoyed at her child for not washing their hands after breakfast and getting buttery fingers all over her cardigan trying to get her attention. He smiled in sympathy. The lady didn’t seem to take any notice of him. 

They’d stopped at the shopping center followed by the marketplace, then a street which had a roundabout covered in flowers. Each time it stopped somebody got off the bus but nobody ever got on. It continued until it was only him and a group of excited old women.  
They all got off at the same stop and thanked the bus driver on the way out into the sun-dusted cobbled streets. Colour blocked buildings and large glass buildings intimidated Greg’s well-being. He considered crossing the road to catch the bus back, but decided against it when he spotted a friendly face walking towards him.

“Mate! How’d you know what bus I was on?”  
Greg laughed at Marcus’ explanation that he’d guessed he’d be too hung over to get the earliest bus, as he led the way to his flat. It was surprising how unfazed Marcus seemed by all the large buildings, traffic and people walking about in the late afternoon. About half-way through their walk they bumped into a group of school kids who were chasing each other down the road. It was oddly nostalgic to look at.

“So when are you going for an interview then?” Marcus asked.

“I don’t really know. I might go in on Monday to see what I should be doing.”

“Well in my mind you should already be on the force.”

“Sure you do.”

They teased each other a little on the way up to Marcus’ third floor flat. His next door neighbors peered out the window pretending to be double-checking the stability of an ugly purple curtain. 

Stepping in his new, he supposed squat was the wrong word, sleeping arrangements, Greg had recognized how much Marcus’ flat represented him as a person. Second-hand furniture with knick-knacks adorning the small nooks in the walls. He expected something a lot less clean, with Marcus seeming to work all hours, but it was more homely than that. He was offered a cup of tea and a seat on the squishy leather sofa with Marcus was incredibly proud of how he got a hold of it for half the price at a charity shop because of a tiny rip in the material at the bottom of the back of the two seats. He set down his luggage and continued to banter back and forth with his old friend.

He slept on the sofa that night with a woven blanket and a cushion which was kept in a cupboard between the kitchenette and living room.

Shuffling in the darkness woke Greg up at around 8am. Marcus apologized for waking him up – to which Greg responded it really didn’t matter. They’d decided to seize one of the few days they’d be able to spend together and went out so Marcus could show Greg all his favorite places and introduce him to everybody he knew.  
It was nice to know he would have actual friends here. 

As they walked to the bar they passed a full bus stop of people waiting to get on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter. Title from [here.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=apsaGEuWcJw)


	10. Your Laws Do Not Apply To Me

Three months of training and a whole heap of learning later and Greg had made it as a PC. The internal triumph he felt at what he’d managed to get done was worth the ridiculous hoops he’d had to jump through to even be able to get into the training program. He would have run out of money instantly if Marcus hadn’t let him stay with him, for which he’d always be thankful. When he went to actually thank him he was brushed off. Marcus claimed he would’ve been much more lonely without him. He doubted it when for the past month Marcus had spent most of his time sleeping over at his girlfriend’s place who he’d met early November at a pub quiz. 

Greg rang his mum to tell her the news when he was back at the flat – she was ecstatic and really wanted to take him for a meal to catch up. Greg argued he should take her instead since he would be getting a proper wage from now on. She’d scoffed at that but agreed anyway.

He then considered ringing his friends back home, but figured they’d find out soon enough from his mum’s network of gossipers. He’d have to organize to see them soon anyway and was slightly putting it off from fear of going to work with a monster of a hangover. 

There was one more person he wanted to thank even though they hadn’t spoken since that last night spent living at home. He was sure Mycroft must have had some influence in getting him a position when so many other hopefuls had to do yet another three months in order to even get considered for a job. His hand paused over the dial. He didn’t know his number by heart. He searched through his wallet to see if he still had that business card. It was greying round the edges from dirt getting stuck in the frays. But luckily it was still legible. 

He turned the dial to the numbers his hands almost getting stuck with a vague undertone of anticipation.

“Hello?”

“Is this Mycroft Holmes’ number?”

He was buzzed through for the third time of his life.

“How are you, Greg? Quite happy I expect.”

“Yep. You’re still a bit creepy.”

“Of course. It’s my job to know things.”

“I thought it was your job to hang about London doing incredibly important things nobody else knows about.”

“That too.”

“Anyway, I just wanted to let you know about my new job which I’m guessing you already knew about.”

“Yes.”

“I also sort of wanted to say thank you. I don’t know if you had any influence and even if you didn’t it was nice to know I had someone looking out for me. Especially someone who’s kind of inspiring.”

“Oh. I was not expecting that. Um...”

Greg rubbed a spot of dry skin on the back of his neck.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you pause or stutter like that. Just accept the compliment, yeah?”

“Right. Thanks.”

“Would it be weird if I asked to see you. I mean, we haven’t really spoken since the case ended and all. I dunno I just-“

“Are you free on Thursday next week?”

“I think so? I have the early shift so I should be around after lunchtime.”

“Perfect. I’ll see you then.”

The phone cut off and Greg stepped back from it – surprised. He stared at the phone for another few minutes and then remembered he’d left the business card on it. He put it back safely in his wallet which he stowed away in his back pocket. 

\--

They chose to meet at a café. Greg had dark circles permeating his vision from waking up and going to work at 3am. They were only really chauffeuring violent drunks around the city – but even that he found exciting and new. Interacting with the public in any professional capacity was interesting, even if they did throw up on the back seat. He hoped he didn’t smell of it when he spotted Mycroft at the wooden table across from the counter. The walls were painted cream and had arty black and white photos hanging on them. The menu was written in chalk on the back wall of the matching wooden counter.   
He sat down on the white plastic chair.

“How you been?” He opened, trying to get Mycroft to look up from his crossword.

“Ah. I didn’t see you. I’m quite well, and yourself?”

“I’ve been better. Glad to be finished for the day so early.”

“What’s troubling you?” Mycroft sipped from his cup which was almost empty.

“I’m just tired really. Drunk people aren’t the easiest to deal with.”

“You don’t say.”

“Hey! That was months ago.”

“I’ll never forget Anthea’s reaction to answering the phone,” he smiled to himself in a way that made Greg think he’s caused some kind of office-wide scandal, “Anyway, would you like a coffee?”

Greg nodded and asked for a black coffee with sugar. Mycroft was happy to oblige him by getting the drink and asking for a refill of his small teapot. He also brought back a handful of brown and white sugar, rolling up his shirtsleeves over his grey jumper. When he sat back down Greg stared at his forearms for slightly too long. It didn’t go unnoticed. 

They reminisced about the trafficking case and Mycroft gave extensive detail about how Barry had managed to close down the operation entirely. The only loose end being who they were supplying the people to, but that was, as Mycroft said, an international issue which was definitely much bigger then was possible to take down in the current political climate.   
The conversation took a slightly ridiculous turn when they started listening to the table nearest to them who were talking about buying baby shower gifts. 

“I can’t imagine ever having children.”

“Why not?”

“Two reasons. The first being how ridiculously busy I am. The second is more to do with my own preference.”

“Fair enough, I guess. No point having a kid if you can’t care for it and don’t particularly want one.”

“I mean my preference in terms of not really dating women.”

“Well I don’t date anyone either.”

“The key word is women.”

“Oh. Right.” Greg blushed a little behind his coffee cup. He was embarrassed about being slow to catch on. Not embarrassed that Mycroft liked men, he was used to that. Clubs where punks tended to go often attracted a gathering of gay people. Marcus had taken him to a few favorite spots when they’d both had free time and he’d enjoyed dancing and flirting with both men and women. In Greg’s eyes his sexuality was normal, he saw a lot of people doing the same and didn’t feel the need to explain himself – well, unless somebody had a problem.  
It was difficult to get these thoughts across so he just let Mycroft excuse himself to go and refill his small china pot of skimmed milk. To make things a little less awkward Greg unfolded the crossword next to Mycroft’s plate and attempted one of the clues. He stared at it confused, like a child trying to read a clock face for the first time.

Mycroft let out a small laugh. Greg looked upwards, and grinned shyly. He felt a little bit stupid – but Mycroft probably did as well. At least his stupidity could dissipate the awkwardness from before and make the air much more comfortable to breathe.  
He pointed at the clue which read ‘Lack of respect from those around monarch creates (8,2,5)’.

Mycroft said, “I hope anyone you arrest doesn’t commit this.”

“I still have no idea, could you just tell me? I’ve always been shite at word game type things.”

“You do realize that makes me not want to tell you.”

“Pretty please.”

“Fine. Only so you won’t beg and make a scene,” he paused dramatically, “It’s ‘contempt of court’.”

“Okay – I never would’ve gotten that.”

Their conversation continued until three o’ clock when Greg’s stomach decided to make itself known. They decided to order some food. When they’d finished eating they parted ways with an agreement to set up another day to meet and talk some more. 

\--

It was a surprise to Greg to see Mycroft at new year from afar in the balcony of a mostly abandoned building. Marcus had claimed that the center was the place to be when the clock struck midnight and he’d tagged along mainly fueled by the need to do something other than work. The manual labor aspect of his job was really taking a toll on Greg’s energy and willingness to do things. He knew that a promotion was far off in the distance like the man he was staring up at smoking on a balcony three floors up, below a cursive sign naming the place Otto’s. He considered waving but doubted he’d be seen so left it to enjoy being out with his friends.

The countdown started up and he shouted along with Marcus, his girlfriend, Dawn, their other friend Trish and somebody he’d met on a night out who tagged along that he forgotten the name of and felt too awkward to ask.

They reached ‘90 and everyone around him was pulling him into hugs and kissing his cheeks. Marcus and Dawn were kissing whilst the rest of the group jeered at them. Greg stepped onto a paper cup whilst he was preparing himself for auld lang syne. Once they all finished singing and wiped off sweaty strangers hand grease, the crowd lurched forwards to watch the fireworks. He watched the sky change from a black abyss to being flecked with bright yellow flashes of light. The display was much prettier than he was used to from his Mum’s friends back garden. 

He turned his head a little to see if Mycroft was still on the balcony or if he’d left already. The man was gone from the balcony and Greg decided he’d try to catch him on the way out and wish him a happy new year. He told Marcus he’d spotted a friend and was going to come back. He tried to make his way towards the doorway much to the annoyance of a few fireworks watchers. The noise of gunpowder cracked within the sky loudly changing the colours of the reflections of light on shop windows. He reached the green painted metal embellished shop-front and darted around to see if he could see a man in an impeccable suit.   
A grey flash of material passed by and he followed it with his eyes. It was definitely Mycroft in that fancy-ass suit. He skipped forward a few steps and tapped him on the shoulder. Mycroft turned around fairly violently with an angry look on his face which softened a little when he realized who it was.

“Greg?” He could barely be heard above the noise of the crowd and the fireworks.

Greg nodded and then tried to dramatically mouth ‘Happy new year!’

Mycroft smiled and repeated the phrase, putting an excitable fizzy feeling in Greg’s stomach which wasn’t from the anticipation of a new year or even a new decade. 

“How are you?” Greg shouted trying to make the conversation last a little longer.

“Fine. Was just here meeting an old friend.”

“You seemed kind of angry?” 

“We had a disagreement in the restaurant.”

“Oh.”

“It’s ok. Anyway you’d better get back to your friends.”

“I guess so. See you around.”

He tried to figure out his bearings by locating Marcus, whose blonde hair was fairly recognizable among the fray. It turned out that his group of friends were turned to face him and not the fireworks. He waved at them and walked over. He assumed Mycroft stepped off into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from [here.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=liNnCKPeEv0) Another upload because I'm going away next week.


	11. Independent

Mycroft Holmes sat in his office among a pile of paper which threatened to tip him over the edge of annoyed to properly scornful. He called Anthea in and quizzed her about the surveillance materials. She explained the problems they were having with securing an allowance from the spy networks to use their resources for their latest project.  
He asked her to sit down and over a cup of tea they tried to figure out who they needed to charm in order to get what they needed. Once sorted, Mycroft sat back in his chair, slightly less agitated with a much calmer head.

He was tempted to leave the office early again. He rarely did, but last night’s argument had really pissed him off and it was the new year. He grabbed his coat off the hook attached to the wall and waltzed out. Anthea didn’t say anything but raised a slight eyebrow. He knew that meant she would probably stay in the office in case he got any calls. He was paying her anyway, it wasn’t a concern. 

He walked across the grey car park into his grey car, in a grey coat. Grey exuded sophistication but it was an overly warm, inviting colour. He shook his head a little when he turned the key of the car. He wasn’t entirely sure where he was going, he just needed to look at something more black and white than the morality underlying his job.  
He turned onto the motorway considering which place on the road sign to go to. He decided on Sheffield because he knew a bookshop he favored would be the perfect place to forget about the world. 

When he arrived in a multi-story carpark above the high street, he considered his minds ulterior motive to see a particular policeman. He convinced himself that actually all he wanted to do was clear the bad situation from the night before and properly confront what happened.

It was supposed to be a dinner to escape his usual plans of working until his eyes went strange and he fell asleep at his desk – something Anthea suggested to make sure he didn’t go to an early grave having not enjoyed his life. He reluctantly agreed to meet with Nigel, who had become a journalist after they’d both graduated at Oxford. He was a seemingly safe contact number stored in his address book – until he’d started trying to question Mycroft on his work after the food had been ordered and he could no longer claim a work emergency (which would no doubt increase the amount of questions asked). Mycroft liked to think of himself as mild-mannered but by the second course the food was turning to grey mush in his mouth.  
They’d left on an incredibly sour note when the clock struck half past 10 and Nigel suggested the reason Mycroft was so uptight was to do with some rumors he’d heard regarding a particular student at their college. Mycroft knew instantly that he getting at his apparent affair with Alex – a boy who was as straight as a javelin and clearly not interested. It was this rumor that had caused his actual boyfriend – James, Barry’s son, to leave him. Their friendship became much stronger after he’d left university. The rumor mill no longer applied, which was a welcome relief.  
He told him not to bring up old problems and Nigel, with an increasing passive aggressive edge, had become incredibly rude. Mycroft asked him to leave – which he did. In an attempt to salvage the New Year Mycroft headed to the bar at the back of the restaurant and ordered a flute of champagne to watch the crowd enjoying the anticipation of the fireworks. He figured the best time to leave would be just after the countdown – as everyone would be too distracted by the fireworks to notice an annoyed and slightly lonely man. 

He couldn’t have been more wrong when he’d bumped into Greg, who it seemed had spotted him from the middle of a group of friends. It was a nice feeling to say happy new year to somebody he wasn’t working with, at least not someone he was working with anymore. He told Greg to go back to his friends as they were clearly confused by his absence. An act of selflessness which wasn’t motivated by his wish for Greg to see him slightly more put together than he felt in that moment.

Walking into the second hand bookshop and the familiar ding of the bell soothed Mycroft’s introspection about how he should have acted. He nodded at the lady keeping the till. They’d talked before on the merits of certain book-binding techniques before which was lovely – but he didn’t much feel like talking. Instead he looked for a book which would satisfy the niggling fear of any kind of negative public image of himself seeping through the cracks of a ridiculous begrudged journalist.  
He paid for the badly printed copy of Henry James’ Wings of the Dove which he’d always abandoned about half way through for no particular reason. He was determined to get through it today.

\--

Greg was doing the leg work of grabbing five cups of coffee. It wasn’t incredibly important police work, as they had a coffee machine in the station, but it had been a slow day for the kind of petty crime he usually helped with. His superiors were working on some more exciting serial murders – which he probably shouldn’t be envious of, but was. The excitement of actually working in the station still hadn’t worn off properly so just coming in the building sent a small buzz of happiness down his spine.

He knocked on his superiors office where a group of officers were discussed something heatedly. The door opened and he passed out the drinks. They each thanked him in turn. Sargent Dalloway was particularly thankful, probably because she’d been doing the same before her recent promotion.  
Just as he was leaving again he was told he could leave now. His shift was over anyway, and with half the force already roaming the streets with nothing better to do it made sense for him to go. So got changed out his uniform and did.

Getting used to walking around in the winter sunshine at 2pm still felt weird in Greg’s mind – it was like a weird transcendent idea of what being an adult would be like. He took the long walk back to Marcus’ flat so he could take a look in the window of the estate agent and maybe buy something fancy for a late lunch. There were a few flats he was quite interested in – but he didn’t really want to set up viewings until he was entirely okay economically. It was getting a little awkward being a third wheel in Marcus’ relationship – even if he insisted Greg being around was not an issue it still felt like he should start thinking about moving soon. Especially since Dawn and Marcus’ relationship seemed to be going so well.

Craving some kind of romantic connection was another thought that also put him off moving out. When he was younger he’d always imagined that the first time he’d move out would be because he got married or something. He still wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to get married – but it was a sad kind of realization that he would definitely need to live alone for a few years until he trusted moving in with someone who was more than a friend. Not that he really had anyone to move in with anyway.

An estate agent caught his eye whilst he was looking in – she smiled at him, hopefully, looking towards the door as if to say he was welcome. Greg pushed his lips together, in what he reckoned with a sympathetic look, and turned away from the window to walk down the rest of the storefronts.

A door opened with the sound of a bell and a slightly frazzled man accidently pushed into him a little. He recognized him instantly.

“Mycroft?” He asked, unsure of he was hallucinating or was just having a lucky streak of accidently meeting the man he’d missed during his settling down in Sheffield.

“Hello, Greg,” Mycroft replied a smile playing on his lips.

“You alright?”

“Much better. I decided to take a break off work today.”

“Oh really? Mycroft not at work - it’s a scandal!” Greg said with a hint of disbelief.

“I don’t know why you think I’m some kind of work addict when the last few times you’ve seen me I have definitely not been working.”

“That’s because I know what you’re like.”

“And how’s that?”

“You pretend that you’re not solving your problems at work in your head when you’re ‘taking a break’ but you really are. It’s all you really think about.”

“Well, enough character analysis – how are you?”

Greg almost laughed at the change in topic but thought better of it. He knew Mycroft was in a particularly sensitive mood if he’d actually taken time off, by choice, for once.

“Pretty good actually. Just about to make a late lunch – you’re welcome to join me.”

“I’m not sure I trust you around food.”

“I’ll have you know my cooking has been getting much better now I actually rely on myself for food.”

Mycroft grumbled about it but agreed to come anyway. He wasn’t about to let Greg know he was curious about where Greg was living and what his cooking was like – so feigned indifference to where Greg was taking him. A few streets and jabs at Mycroft eating somewhere that didn’t have an impeccable customer rating later and they were walking up the stairs to Marcus’ flat. Greg whole heartedly recommended they didn’t use the lift when he recounted that he was fairly sure somebody was using it as a toilet. 

Mycroft sat down gingerly on the sofa as Greg went into the what apparently qualified as a kitchen. He shouted across the hallway to ask if Mycroft was okay with chicken pesto pasta. Mycroft said he was.  
He felt awkward sat on Greg’s sofa and wasn’t sure if he should move to the kitchen so they could continue their conversation instead of him sitting and gaining some creepy insight into Greg and his flat mate’s home life. It felt like too much of an intrusion when he spotted an empty condom packet poking out of the bin so he went to kitchen to try and forget it.

He made Greg jump a little when he entered and claimed the chicken smelt great. Greg wasn’t used to cooking for anyone that wasn’t obliged to eat what he had made and so felt a bit sheepish about the compliment. Cotton wool mouth wasn’t something he’d ever imagined he would understand but when he served up the pasta to Mycroft he was fairly close to grasping what that idea meant. 

“This looks really good, thanks.”

The compliment washed over Greg and reassured him that Mycroft wasn’t typically rude and why he was getting worried about his reaction now seemed a bit redundant.  
They chewed a poked their pasta with forks. Mycroft looked like the kind of person who would insist he was provided with a knife even if the food could be eaten just as delicately without one, but he wasn’t one of those people.

When the meal was finished Mycroft insisted he do the washing up and Greg was fairly excited to see him in a domestic situation. Even watching him eat without his jacket at a small plastic covered table was interesting enough, but rolled-up sleeves and soapy hands were a visual treat.  
He grinned despite himself and got a bit lost in the image. When Mycroft noticed his staring he finished up rather quickly piling things on the draining rack. He sat back down at the table in a smooth motion trying to look like he wasn’t slightly worried as to why Greg’s gaze was on him and why he fairly enjoyed it. He interlocked his hands on the table and looked up to gauge what exactly Greg was thinking. Usually he could read people pretty well, a skill he’d honed with a job that was based around the actions of powerful people, but it was more of a struggle when his own sense experience could be tricking him into believing something which wasn’t there. 

Greg finally broke the awkwardness, “Listen. I don’t want you to take this weirdly but is there like a thing between us?”

“I believe it’s called a table.”

“Very funny. But seriously, sometimes it feels like there’s something building between us and I know it’s weird because I often feel like I don’t really know where you stand with me. I know we’re friends and all but you don’t really seem to have others, that you’ve mentioned anyway, and I don’t know I just like you a lot, ok?”  
Greg fiddled with a frayed piece of threat on the edge of the patterned table cloth willing for Mycroft not to look so shocked when he’d finally managed to spit out the statement he’d been practicing back and forth in his head since they’d first met after the investigation. 

“Wait. Hold on. Wait.”

“I don’t really have much of a choice.”

“You’re saying you felt like a relationship was building between us?”

“A bit.”

“To be quite blunt, I was unaware you thought that. I was unaware that you weren’t heterosexual,” he blushed at saying the word heterosexual, he didn’t often talk about his own sexuality, or any sexuality, and it felt a bit foreign on his tongue – like an unused regional dialect which had shifted due to moving countries. 

“Well, that makes this a little awkward.”

“Perhaps. Though to counter that I would like to point out how inept I am at noticing people’s opinions of me, besides the obvious.”

“Ok then.”

Mycroft paused for a moment, making Greg feel as if he was about to drop off the edge of a cliff face.

“Sorry. It’s a bad habit of mine to watch people looked pained when they are waiting for me to say something.”

“You should really stop it.”

“I know,” he paused again for a dramatic effect that was really getting on Greg’s nerves, “I do like spending time with you and, if I’m more honest than I’ve ever been, I have to say it was really nice seeing you when I was so annoyed the other night. To the point that I might have been drawn here on my day off so I could enjoy your company again.”

“What does that mean?”

“Not sure. I’d like to spend more time with you and, I suppose, see what happens?”  
Mycroft felt a bit strange to admit how accustomed he’d become to being around someone for the fun of it. He was aware that whatever they were getting into – casual dating or a relationship or just seeing each other a bit more was extremely out of character for him and he would have continued with whatever was happening until Greg brought the inevitable question up.  
He was glad it had been brought up fairly early. Then he wouldn’t panic if he suddenly found himself in a relationship he’d hadn’t expected – which was how it had happened the last time.

“Me too,” Greg looked excited at the prospect of anything involving Mycroft and surely that was something worth treasuring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title was longer but I shortened it. From [this ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rMXvr6uIynY)song.


	12. The World Falls Down

Vivienne had been coming to the city for a few job interviews and had been staying in Greg’s new flat which was entirely his. She crashed on the sofa whilst he was up all through the night attempting to assist in solving a kidnapping case. He’d soon learnt the formalities of police work and the amount of paperwork he was asked to double-check for his superior gave him an insight to what being a higher rank would be like. 

When Vi had arrived for her week-long interview sojourn she’d been introduced to Marcus and Dawn. Her and Dawn had become friends incredibly quickly, the way their personalities melded was impressive, and so they’d spent a fair amount of time gossiping about Greg’s mysterious relationship. Most people they knew were yet to meet or even see Greg’s apparent partner. His attempt to keep everything private and as uninvolved as possible made Dawn and Vi far more curious than they would have been if they’d been introduced to Mycroft. Every single almost slip of information was stored in a section of Vi’s brain that she would be ashamed of if not for Dawn’s enthusiasm. She got up and took a quick cold shower, which ended up annoying her more than it was supposed to, to wake herself up. She dried her hair and got dressed up ready for her, now, fourth interview. It was the last one for her current stay and was in a small café she’d really enjoyed going to with Marcus when he’d had a day off and felt like showing her round. She hoped they’d offer her something.

Greg sat next to his superior who was spouting off about being tired of this kidnap victim still being in an unsafe location. They were waiting for a phone call which was expected since the victim’s Wife had received an unpleasant, slightly traumatizing, parcel. He made a coffee and brought it over to the phone – the bags under both their eyes were prominent enough to look like they’d been in a fight which, to some extent, they had been. The phone let out a sharp ring and Greg looked expectantly at his Commander. He waited for a breath and then picked up.  
They found out that the person being held hostage was the head of a cosmetics company which had been brutally testing products on animals and causing them harm. The kidnapper talked about making the victim suffer as the animals did.  
When the phone call had ended there was a brief discussion in the main part of the station where people were told where to go and what to do. Greg was told to go to a location near the phone box the kidnapper had been calling from so he could essentially act as a marker for the rest of the force.  
He drove a Police car to the location and parked at the bottom of the road. He decided it would be less likely to cause a problem towards the closed section of the cul-de-sac. He walked up the road keeping his eyes peeled for the police that were going to be tailing his car after having kitted up properly. 

He noticed some movement beyond the joint garden of the block of flats besides the phone box. He took a quick look down to a set of garages which were seemingly empty. He heard another car coming down the main part of the road. The group of two officers, one of which was Sargent Dalloway, got out before reaching the phone box to talk to Greg. He spoke softly telling them that he thought perhaps one of the garages might hold their victim. They used the closer car’s radio to let everyone else know their plan. Then they split up one officer was on the right and the other on the left hand. Greg jogged and then round the side of someone’s front window and beyond to get to the other end of the garages to search from that end. Instead of opening the doors they listened closely to determine if anyone was inside. On the fifth right-hand garage, which was open slightly at the bottom, Greg heard some shuffling noises. He stood back from the door and beckoned the other two officers over. Sargent Dalloway then gingerly grabbed the handle and then pulled the metal door up in a swift motion. 

A stunned man with a bandaged foot and several burn marks, what look like acid burns, was tied against an old radiator hidden amongst plastic boxes containing bolts and screws. Two of them worked at untying him whilst the other looked around for any clues to where the kidnapper had disappeared off too. Finding nothing they waited whilst the man was untied. They helped the man to his feet and carefully supported him walking to the police car. Greg offered to drive a little closer so they didn’t have to struggle as long. He ran up the road noticing that one more car had gathered where he’d parked his. He ignored them and took the car up. Figuring it would be a good idea to let everyone know he quickly sent a radio message out to tell everybody the victim was found but they hadn’t seen the kidnapper.  
His shift ended with a hearty pat on the back from his superior and some mild thanks for Hugh and Alex, the other two officers, who helped him out. The walk back to his flat was one filled with images of concrete with paint flecks from spilled cans and misplaced brushes. The dreaminess of half-helping a case and the reality of witnessing some pretty disgusting photos of the victim’s toes made for an interesting state of mind that really wasn’t up to much more than coffee and sleep. Though he doubted sleep would come easily. 

He made a cup of coffee after taking his uniform off and took it to bed, thankful that Vivienne was out so she didn’t have to witness his weird vegetative state. He sat until he’d finished his drink trying to erase some of the grittier moments of the day from his mind. His mind didn’t want to co-operate so threw every single memory right back at him with some even worse images it had conjured up just to piss him off. He sat upright against the head board, his brain pulsating. He got out the covers and rang Mycroft.

“Hi Mycroft.”

“Are you okay?”

“Not really. You wouldn’t happen to be near Sheffield right now would you?”

“If you’re asking if I can come and see you right now it depends if you could wait an hour and 34 minutes for me to drive up.”

“It’s alright, you don’t have to drive. I’ve just not had a great day, it’s not a big deal.”

“Too late. I’m getting in the car.”

“Jesus Christ Mycroft, I’m fin-“

The phone clicked off mid-sentence and Greg smiled a little despite himself. He didn’t want to come across as selfish but having someone to be around when he was experiencing a side of policing he knew he’d eventually get immune to was comforting. There had been a lot of firsts at his Sheffield job – the first time seeing a corpse, the first time handcuffing someone, the first time catching a thief in the act and the first time seeing a burnt and mutilated victim.

Greg sat back on his bed and got his book out from the bedside table. He didn’t focus much on the passages but just held it as a kind of prop. The buzzer sounded and he walked round to the hallway to press the switch and let the person up. A sharp knock, which could only be Mycroft, sounded a few moments later and he opened the door to his concerned-looking partner. They stared at each other for a moment and then Mycroft started babbling a little bit about the traffic and his timing being slightly off. Greg made them both a cup of tea and handed it over whilst Mycroft got his thoughts in order. It was a side of Mycroft that Greg had never expected to see. He figured that being in a relationship with someone meant that he was allowed to hear a bit more about his brain worked but had expected that Mycroft’s thoughts just sounded as clear as his normal speech did.

Greg sipped his tea and then opened the conversation.

“Well, basically, I’ve been working on a case that resulted in some fairly graphic injuries to the victim and I’m just having trouble with it. I don’t really want you to drop everything the moment I’m a bit uncomfortable.”

“I apologize. I just wanted to help.”

“No, it’s fine just, y’know, I can look after myself sometimes as well.”

Mycroft agreed with Greg and justified his visit by how tired Greg had sounded over the phone rather than the content of his message. They cleared the cups away together and sat down on the sofa. Greg leant his head on Mycroft’s shoulder and, at his insistence, shut his eyes. Mycroft told him to concentrate on his breathing and he did until the buzzer sounded again and his lost his pace – opening his eyes instead.

“Fuck. That’s Vi.”

Mycroft pressed the buzzer before he could be stopped and told Greg to lay on the sofa again. Greg couldn’t help but crane his neck to see Vi’s reaction to Mycroft answering the door. She looked mildly confused at first.

“Hello, you must be Vivienne.”

“I am, and you are?”

“Mycroft Holmes.”

They shook hands slightly awkwardly and Mycroft said something about making more tea. When he left the room Vi bounded towards Greg.

“Greg, who was that?” she said.

“Mycroft. My, um, partner.”

“Holy shit! I didn’t expect you to have some fancy posh boyfriend.”

“Yeah, well,” he trailed off. 

Mycroft came back into the room with two cups of tea. One for himself and one for Vivienne. Greg looked a bit annoyed at not being given one when Mycroft stated that if he wanted to sleep he should probably not drink anymore caffeine. Vivienne laughed at Greg’s slight pout. She asked about how they’d met and Mycroft told the story whilst Greg’s pout melted into a smile at the memory. 

Vivienne then told them about her job interview, which apparently went better than expected, and Mycroft said she’d probably get the job. Greg let out a huge yawn and his friend and partner looked at him almost being sucked into the sofa cushions. They promised to talk another time whilst Mycroft helped Greg to his bed. He took his socks off, put them in the wash basket, and closed the curtains whilst Greg pretended that he definitely wasn’t falling asleep.  
The warmth of the duvet enveloped around him and he felt like maybe he wouldn’t dream about something gory if he let himself fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title [here.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VppuD1St8Ec) Also the [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/pauciflorus/playlist/33I1JExZi7WVoHh3CmzZV0?si=Um_jub0lRDijdvD1W0RsPw) I made for writing this.  
> Maybe one day I'll continue writing for this idea - I do have some vague plot for another part.


End file.
